


Apprentice to Journeyman

by Susan Smithson (charlottechill)



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Coming of Age, First Time, M/M, Romance, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-10
Updated: 2009-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 50,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlottechill/pseuds/Susan%20Smithson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is it, really, to live and grow as a Jedi? What is it, really, to learn over the course of years what love is?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story almost exactly 10 years ago, and it was the first finished piece I ever posted on the web. Hence the jealously guarded pseudonym, and the fascination with a *huge* and vibrant fandom.
> 
> I re-read the story before archiving it here, and I think today that the end is extraordinarily dense and graphic and overdone. However, I'm disinclined to change it.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was fourteen when puberty struck, lightning-quick, catching him in its maelstrom and ripping through him like the biological storm it was. After barely a year with Master Jinn, he was both frustrated and angry that something like this should take him now. _Now, of all times,_ he groused to himself, tossing on his sleeping couch, completely unable to return to his dreams.

The dreams were the problem.

Odd and stark, what he remembered of them, they didn't even seem procreative: saber drills, images of swimming with crechemates, his master's generous smiles—all inspired equally erotic responses from his body, and he hated it. Hunching over onto his side, he curled his knees up and practiced calming breaths. For the third time in as many days he had awakened in the aftermath of such astonishing physical releases that they tore him from his night-visions and dropped him gracelessly, gasping, into his sticky, writhing body. He wasn't even willing to get up for fresh sleeping pants, not at this point. It would likely happen again before the cursed night was over.

He glanced furtively across to his master's bed, the lights from the City's nearer towers outlining the silent, sleeping bulk of his teacher, wondering… but no. Even though the tapes he'd been given only months ago promised it was true, he simply could not imagine Qui-Gon Jinn _ever_ having suffered something so… well… embarrassing.

_Why is it embarrassing, Obi-Wan?_ his master would ask of him. Almost like a child, was Qui-Gon Jinn, with his infernal and eternal questions _why. _

Obi-Wan's first and only answer was the lack of control. He'd found that his body would respond anywhere, to anything, regardless of provocation or lack thereof—he was incredibly grateful for the concealment his apprentice robes afforded. Was this why all Jedi wore robes? No, it couldn't be. The lessons would have said, and instead they promised that this was merely a stage of growth, a change from one form to another. The caterpillar moving into the chrysalis, Master Jinn had commented absently. He sighed, punched his headrest in irritation, and stared at the patterned ceiling until sleep took him once more.

 

A full week passed, with little respite. Master Jinn had taken to smiling indulgently at him, while never invading his privacy. He would have preferred a direct frontal attack on the problem, frankly, and eventually frustration alone drove him to speak first.

They walked through a rooftop courtyard, one of Obi-Wan's favorites, in fact; seventy meters to a side and only a few dozen stories high, it was a verdant, lush intersection between dormitories, indoor training rooms, and the main dining hall adjacent to the west Temple entrance. Walls rose up on all sides, strewn with clinging plants and vines, and paths meandered through at seeming odd angles. His body goading him as they neared the center of the courtyard, he blurted out, "Master, is this stage so for everyone?"

"And what stage is that, Padawan?"

He glanced sidelong at his teacher, relieved at the calm contentment in the deep voice. Even in this short span of months with Qui-Gon Jinn, he had already learned that the man usually knew the answer to a question before he asked it. "Adolescence," he replied. "Puberty. This miserable sexual awakening."

"Ahh." Qui-Gon slowed, and gestured to a bench beneath an aging, spreading iquia tree. "And what is ‘so' about this stage?"

He sighed, fidgeted for a moment, chewed on the inside of his lip for another. "I feel like a prisoner in my own body. These urges take me at odd moments. They leave me flushed and distracted. I can't control them, but I also have _no_ desire to be, well, intimate with someone." Perish the thought; the girls' squealing annoyed him as much as their silent superiority—and the boys… no, he wasn't interested in touching or being touched yet, no matter what his body suggested.

"Most humanoid species experience something like this, yes," Qui-Gon answered quietly. "Just as a muscle is trained and exercised before it is tested with a partner, so is your sexuality. Your body knows this, and is beginning those exercises. If you aren't yet ready to practice that dance with a partner—and I agree that you're not—you need simply continue with private drills." Qui-Gon's grin seemed conspiratorial enough that he knew he was missing something important, but he wasn't quite ready to ask.

"I'd rather just make it stop," he sulked, crossing his legs under himself. "Can't I do that, instead?"

"Obi-Wan, like so many things, this awakening isn't meant to be controlled. In fact," he smiled down, patting him lightly between the shoulder blades, "it should be enjoyed. Your wakening sexuality is a gift of the Force; accept it, revel in it."

_"How?"_

The hand slipped away, and Obi-Wan watched as those large hands crept into the sleeves of his master's robes. He looked up, hesitant, but Master Jinn's quiet face only reassured and warmed him. "I suppose sharing my sleeping room has thwarted attempts at self-exploration… Perhaps it's time for you to move into your own chambers," he said gently.

Obi-Wan pondered this. "Master, I'd rather not return to the dormitories. Is there not some other way I can deal with this?"

"You won't be returned to the dormitories, Obi-Wan," Master Jinn was quick to reassure. "I'll submit a transfer request to larger quarters for us both. We'll share reception and work space, and you'll have your own room across from mine. All right?"

He nodded, still troubled. "Master? How exactly does one go about… self exploration?" Masturbation; strange word, really. He found he preferred his teacher's less direct choice, which sounded both more general and more specific. He had developed more than one theory of his own on the activity, but he'd yet to put any into action, assuming in this as in all other things that first he would study, then he would model, and only then would he do. The lessons had been vague about the actual modeling requisites.

Much to his relief, he sensed only amused tolerance from his master. "That's one thing you get to learn for yourself. Read, if you feel you must. If you're really determined I'll locate and recommend a training video or two. But each individual is unique, and a thorough tactile examination of your own body should stand you in good stead." His master paused, and for the first time Obi-Wan sensed mild discomfort from the man. "Your mind may play games with you, Obi-Wan. You may find erotic inspiration in people and things which seemed commonplace before. This is normal as well; if it happens, don't let it trouble you."

He nodded, thinking. Certainly he'd learned the most common anatomical forms; it was early studies for field first aid. Certainly he understood the implication of erotic inspiration in commonplace things; he had found his own master's form terribly distracting in the last weeks, and this sexual response seemed to happen so easily around the man that combat practice had begun to fill him with dread. He shrugged and followed when his master rose from the bench and started walking again. If Master Jinn said this was normal, then it was. If Master Jinn said he could figure it out for himself, then he would.

And so he did.

And he found that private sleeping quarters had their merits, though he wondered if perhaps he wasn't spending too much time in them. Again, his master offered only silence on the subject, and he decided from this that his activities were his own. He caught himself, in moments when he should have been studying his lessons, studying his master's form instead, wondering if Qui-Gon touched himself. Reminiscing on his rising fantasies of what it might be like if Qui-Gon touched him. But, as his teacher had implied, these thoughts were his and his alone, and he did not speak of them.

And so the time passed. His private time remained so, and his studies remained ever-more difficult—physical skills taxed him as he threw himself into dance and gymnastics, philosophies left his brain muddled but oddly refreshed, and species and cultural studies fascinated him endlessly.

The weeks flew by.

They hadn't received an assignment in some time, so when his master interrupted his holochamber studies, he accepted the news eagerly. He had begun to wonder if perhaps the galaxy was settling down; bad time to study to become a Jedi, he mused, if the Republic had no more use for the Order. Happy thoughts, in their way; the Force craved peace even as he knew that chaos was a rule of creation.

"Obi-Wan."

"Yes, Master?" he answered, pausing the viewer.

"We've received a new assignment. Study up on Shalsteer, and examine the data on this chip closely," he said, settling the tiny crystal on the side table. "We leave in three days."

"Yes, Master."

"And Obi-Wan. It will be more appropriate for you to leave your solitary pursuits here, on Coruscant," he added softly. "Shalsteer, as you will learn, is home to a very conservative people, and the upper classes have a narrow view of sex and sexuality."

"Yes, Master." Hmm. He wondered what the absence of his new hobby would be like, and cocked his head, trying to remember the last night he'd fallen asleep without its aid. Qui-Gon still hovered near. "Master? Was there something more?"

Master Jinn pursed his lips, then puffed out a breath of air. "I think you may have been unaware of certain new behaviors, Obi-Wan, and I hesitate to point them out to you. Unfortunately, you must be made aware of them so that you may curb them."

"New behaviors?" he asked, confused.

A hand settled gently on his spiky hair, petting briefly, and Qui-Gon smiled. "You touch me, Padawan. Quite often. And your eyes linger on my body far longer than Shalstii custom will abide. Have you not noticed the occasional brushings, your hand on my arm, your fingers testing the weight of my hair when you braid it? Have you not recollected these moments at other times?"

Obi-Wan felt himself flushing crimson, wondered anew at this embarrassment that swept him. Qui-Gon had said he was normal, that this was common. Certainly he'd whispered to more than one apprentice of his age group about the surpassing beauty of his master, and been met with somber nods and eager, pride-filled comparisons to their own teachers. Apparently many students felt their own teachers by far superior in beauty and grace.

Again, it must be the issue of control. That he was doing things of which he was completely unaware, but which an entire people would identify and judge… it frightened him.

"I…" he felt as if he'd stolen something not his own. "I am deeply sorry, Master."

"Well you're wasting your energy, then," Qui-Gon replied airily. "You have nothing to be sorry for. One day you'll understand that yours is a compliment, sweet and naïve, yet of incomparable value. It honors me." Qui-Gon shrugged, and sighed, somehow conveying his tolerance for the backwards ways of peoples. "Don't worry about it. Be aware of it, though, and curb it, for now. Yes?"

"But—" He felt the flush darken, was flustered by these sweeping new feelings. Impulsively he reached for his master, seeing his own smaller hand caught up by the darker, bigger, adult flesh. He permitted himself to be distracted by that contrast only for a moment, then looked up to meet his teacher's eyes. "If I am unaware of my actions…"

"Hush, Padawan," Qui-Gon chided. "You're aware now, and you're a very smart boy. Every individual is unique; you know this. Observe others, and see what they do that they do not know. Therein lies your lesson."

"Yes, Master," he said, nodding his head unhappily. He sighed. Trained nearly from birth, knowing no other life, he still boggled at how very much there was to learn.

 

The Shalstii were a provincial people, indeed. Covered from crown to heel, wearing veils across their faces and long gloves, every inch of skin save a two-inch band across their eyes was covered. They peered with something akin to shock at his own bare hands and his master's. As he walked beside Master Jinn from the docking bay, following their escort in silence, he peered surreptitiously around himself, wondering if they knew what their actions revealed. He thought not, for they were diplomats as well. More, he sensed a naiveté; certainly they had seen Jedi before, and knew that Jedi deeply respected cultural mores even as they rarely adopted them. Out of respect, he drew up his cowl and slipped his hands into the sleeves of his robe, receiving a warm look from Master Jinn that crinkled all the way to the corners of his blue, blue eyes.

Pursing his lips, Obi-Wan recaptured his wandering mind and set the subject aside for later conversation as they approached the huge stone arches overhanging the palace gates. It was a beautiful planet, really; semi-arid desert air swept over the earth of which there was much to see: gnarled trees, carpets of white, flowering grass, and buildings that meshed with the landscape rising mountainous in the near distance.

The palace itself was cut from stone of the Landier mountains, his studies had told him. Yellowed by sulfur, the stone reflected light like a mirror, tiny glints and bright washes that tickled and drew the eye. Only a few stories tall, placed on the earth like a cut jewel in its setting, it radiated and sparked, visible for miles. He smiled in his mind as they passed through the arches and onto the footpath through the gardens. Provincial they may be, they still had a fine respect for first impressions. What little of the surface he had seen during their descent convinced him that this place was built to inspire and impress. There were no buildings more yellow nor more bright, no domes more polished, no gardens more beautiful.

Their escort left them in the marbled foyer, handing them off to a lone woman he recognized from the Senate, though even her eyes were covered by a sheer gauze screen.

"Master Jinn, Apprentice Kenobi," she said formally, nodding to each in turn. "I am Shalar Zai, undersecretary to Senator Morae. We welcome you to the Regent's palace. Let me escort you to your rooms."

"We thank you, Undersecretary Zai," Master Jinn answered for them both. "It has been a long journey." Obi-Wan, for his part, was flattered to be included in the welcome, and offered a brief smile.

Her eyes, behind her veil, smiled before she returned her gaze to Master Jinn. "Yes, of course. This way, please. A servant has been placed at your disposal; you may call on him at any time."

"Again, we thank you."

Their rooms were spacious and gilded, ornamentation trimmed with leaf in gold and platinum, and Obi-Wan felt his eyes widen in surprise. In their few travels he had yet to see appointments so rich afforded to the Jedi. He glanced sidelong at his master, wondering again at how able a man had taken him as apprentice.

"Don't be too impressed, Obi-Wan; these rooms were designed for just that."

"Why so, Master?"

"To put us at our ease." He shrugged. "To lull visitors with honors regardless of those visitors' merits. Self-importance and hubris make one blind to all but what others wish one to see. Remember that well." His arm swept around, encompassing the spacious quarters. "Enjoy them, but," he smiled, "don't take them personally."

"Yes, Master. But… why would a people waste such efforts on us? We're merely witnesses to the coronation, eyes of the Senate."

"Indeed, Obi-Wan… why?"

Shash. The ‘why' game again. "Well," he pondered, peering about himself, "perhaps they wish to afford the Jedi an honor?"

"Perhaps. Again, why?"

"They're new to the Republic," he speculated, for the first time catching a glimpse through billowing curtains at their view; the palace proper stood fifty yards distant, eclipsing the sun even as it glinted and cast its own lights. "Perhaps… perhaps we intimidate them, and they hope this show of wealth will intimidate us in return."

Master Jinn's lips compressed as he nodded sagely. "Perhaps. Again, why?"

Obi-Wan sighed. "Perhaps they simply know no better… or they wish to record our conversations and so have hidden all manner of observation devices in these trappings… or they wish to lull us into a sense of false security and then lop off our heads whilst we sleep—"

Qui-Gon raised a hand. "Enough!" he chuckled, shaking his head. "A fountain of possibilities, young Padawan. You're certainly right about that. And the only mistake would be to accept this at face value as if it could only be one thing. So," he rumbled on, finally opening his outer robe and shrugging it off broad shoulders, "learn if you can what answer might best reflect the reality of our situation, and share it with me when we leave this place."

"Yes, Master." Study, he sighed inwardly, always study. He started settling them in, to give himself something else to do. Peering through various doors leading off the reception room, he found a master bedroom and a smaller sleeproom off that, which he took for his own, and unpacked his clothes. Then he went in search of his Master's bags and did the same for him.

He felt the presence while he was still in the closet, hanging Master Jinn's formal robes. He turned, found a wry smile on his master's face where he lounged in the doorway. The Jedi stood so tall, his bulk taking up much of the entry, one shoulder propped carelessly against the frame, his arms crossed across a chest so vast… he caught himself, then caught himself flushing, and dropped his eyes.

"Will you never tire of waiting on me, Padawan?" his master asked, letting his slip pass.

And while he knew he was being gently teased, as was his master's wont, he answered, "My contract encourages me to ease your way, Master, as your teachings ease my way to the Force. These small tasks are nothing by comparison."

"You know," Qui-Gon replied, turning back to the main room as he spoke, "I think you take your contract just a bit too seriously."

Hardly, he thought. He wasn't sure that was even possible. Qui-Gon Jinn was among the very most accomplished of Jedi Knights; almost everyone agreed with that. In being accepted as student, Obi-Wan had received a gift he could never, ever repay.

An image of his master swimming in an exercise fountain on Coruscant, long arms cleaving the water as Obi-Wan was taught a new stroke, rose to his mind, and with it this new frission of tension in his skin; he squelched it ruthlessly, remembering his teacher's words. Now was neither the time nor the place for such indulgence. There would be time, later, after they'd left this planet behind. He stored away the image for future contemplation, and turned back to his work.

He decided, after days on days of attendance to pomp and speeches, that this would have been an incredibly boring mission without his master at his side. The Regent, Lon Abitar, had just reached her 20th year. Her ascendance to the throne was merely formality, as was her position. The royalty held dignitary duties on this planet, mainly: opening congress, attending events of state, and keeping a social calendar meant to assure and inspire the people. But the people loved her, which served this planet well. She was demure and wise, he found on his brief occasion to speak with her—and beautiful, he noted in afterthought. Her robes swung about a full body, golden threads in every gown she wore marking the passage of her form with light. He repressed that thought as well, sneaking a peek at Master Jinn. His master, if he noted such things, did not show it, and so neither should he. As he continued to study this planet during his morning readings, he learned what an insult indeed it would be to make such observation openly, and sighed.

His nights, blessedly, were without vivid dreams, and when they finally departed the planet a tenday after their arrival, he was rather proud of himself. His master was, also.

"You did well, Obi-Wan," Master Jinn commented heartily, as they exited the palace gates. A waiting ground car stood open for them; apparently one was only required to be impressed on his way _in_ to this place.

"Thank you, Master."

A brief chuckle caressed his ears. "Not a single misstep, young Padawan; the new queen was quite impressed.

He raised his brows, surprised. "Excuse me?" The ground car hovered up and accelerated fast, swallowing the distance from palace to spaceport with all good speed.

Master Jinn nodded. "She was, indeed. She thought you an excellent student, and a very bright young man, and told me so with all due formality last night at the after-dinner reception."

Ahh. He had been ordered back to their rooms after each evening meal, and festivities had continued "without the presence of children." It rankled, just a bit, to still be treated as a child when his teachings told him he was becoming a man, but far be it from him to ignore the mores of an entire civilization. "I am happy to have pleased her." In afterthought he added, "I liked her as well."

"Yes, I noticed." Was that an undertone of humor in the dry voice?

"Master, I—"

"Don't concern yourself. She is a beautiful young woman, and your observation went unnoticed. I, however, am especially observant of my student."

"You're prettier," he said, smiling sunnily when Master Jinn's eyebrows swept up in surprise.

"And you, lad, have a common case of hero worship. I prescribe an additional two hours of daily study for you, and far more difficult physical drills; that should cure you of it."

Obi-Wan didn't worry; more work meant more time with his master, and besides, he had no wish to be cured of it. Qui-Gon Jinn appealed to him in all ways, from gentle humor to surpassing skill, from complex spirit to well-honed body. Perhaps especially to well-honed body, he surmised, finding himself staring too long—and they hadn't even reached the spaceport! Where was his precious control, now? Resolutely, he set his eyes front and drew deep, even breaths until they were deposited with thanks at the docks, dropped just outside the port at Master Jinn's request.

Only when they were truly alone, walking along a bustling street, did Master Jinn begin his post-mission review. "You remember my question about our well-appointed rooms, Obi-Wan?" he asked, tucking his hands into his robe's sleeves.

Obi-Wan mimicked his movement, and nodded. "Yes, Master."

"And what is your conclusion?"

"That as new members of the Republic, they feared political misstep. They erred on the side of generosity rather than risk insulting us."

"An acceptable hypothesis. Why?"

Obi-Wan struggled to weigh his reasons, most of which weren't intellectual and therefore were difficult to explain. "They were… timid with us, yet not with each other. They did not seem to have a clear sense of their place, as equal members of the Republic. Their manners were consistent, what I saw of them, and never did I sense disdain. I…" he gave up, and ended with, "I just had a feeling."

"Excellent, Obi-Wan. Trust in your intuition. It will always serve you well."

"Was my conclusion correct?"

Master Jinn shrugged. "Does it matter?"

No, he supposed not… but he still wanted to know. He kept his mouth shut, waiting patiently until his master sighed.

"It was a good evaluation of all the factors available to you. As it happens, you were missing information. I have sensed some trouble here, rumblings between the controlling classes and the service classes, that the rich hope their queen's presence will quiet. I believe they did indeed fear risking our offense, as you said, but more, they will seek our favor and support in case conflict breaks out."

"Ahh," Obi-Wan said, trying to sound studious as he took in the sights of this bustling public port. It was more ordered than most, and smaller, perhaps because it was so near the palace. Only a few species populated it, and the throngs around them were fully 3/4 natives. He sighed; he had seen cleaner ports and he had certainly seen dirtier ones. By the time they reached the ship he had put the matter out of his mind, aching to be off-planet and in his own, private, cabin. Once onboard, he stowed their gear, adjusted his chronometer to ship's time, noted happily that it was well into night-cycle, and bade his master a good rest. Then he tore off to his own cabin, recalled that image of Master Jinn swimming, explored himself to exhaustion and, eventually, slept.


	2. Time Advances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Dance of Faces_

By the time Obi-Wan was sixteen, he had learned most of the dances that could be mastered by a Force-enhanced biped. It was late spring on Coruscant, or so the flowers in the garden declared; their blooms overwhelmed the space with a heady abundance of color and scent, and the gardens seemed almost crowded with people. From eldest master to youngest Padawan, the place fairly bustled with quiet activity. This afternoon, Obi-Wan took his turn there as well while Qui-Gon attended a meeting of master-teachers. Busy cataloguing the scent of every new flower, comparing it to scents in his mind from years past, and feeling one with this place, it took him a moment to sense Challi Viswan silently seeking his attention.

"Hello Challi," he whispered, loathe to disturb the bustling quiet around them.

"Obi-Wan," she whispered back. She radiated excitement in palpable waves, and he smiled; she was as pretty, in her way, as the flowers that surrounded them. "I'm looking forward to the recital this evening."

"Me too." These were parties, really, thrown every spring and greeted with pleasure by most Padawans. These were opportunities to exercise their dancing skills, laugh, eat, gossip, and bask in the attention of their teachers, most of whom would be in attendance and lining the Great Hall's walls. Master Jinn had already promised his presence, and had shaken his head with amused acceptance when Obi-Wan fairly beamed.

"I'd like to spend some time together, after."

He felt a tremor of unease and turned his attention to it, recognizing its cause immediately. Challi liked him a great deal, as he did her, and more, she found him attractive. He knew she wanted to lie with him, and while his body agreed eagerly with this concept, his heart held him back; he had come to see only Master Jinn with such eyes, and, private experimentation aside, he felt he would betray himself by accepting her offer. 

"I…"

She was strong in the Force. He felt her excitement dampen somewhat, and she dropped to her knees in the grass. "I had thought…" looking up through her lashes, adorably shy, she ventured, "I had thought you found me interesting, and appealing."

"I do," he said sincerely. "But I fear my heart belongs to another."

Her eyes lit up; Challi loved gossip, was often his first source for information about the lesser goings-on at Temple. "Who?!" 

Measuring his desire to share against his continued sense that such things should be private, he hesitated. But Challi was insightful, as well. "Oh, Obi-Wan," she groaned, and stretched back, propping her weight on her hands. "Not Master Jinn!"

He couldn't stop the blush at her words. "I…"

"You're wasting your time. Rumor has it he hasn't lain with anyone in years upon years. I doubt he'd remember how, even if he was interested. Which I doubt," she added dryly.

"I'm pretty enough for you, aren't I?" he snapped, defensive without quite knowing why. 

"Yes," she answered reasonably, "but you and I are friends who find each other attractive in this way. And I am not a fifty year old Jedi master whose vein with the Force runs so deep I've likely forgotten such trivialities as personal pleasure. Besides, you should be intimate with others; it will get you through this infatuation you have with your master."

He couldn't quite follow her logic, but he appreciated her candor immensely. He sprawled down beside her, matching her pose in the grass. "I don't think Master Jinn has forgotten personal pleasure. He delights in small things, Challi. He is filled with joy and serenity and—" beside him, she made a retching sound. "Challi," he said sternly, "I love him."

"Just as I desired my own master," she replied, nodding vigorously. Her dark blonde braid whipped over her shoulder and snagged in her robe's hem. "Master Yakkir is handsome, in command of himself, and young in his heart. But Obi-Wan, he does not desire me. And even if he did, I suspect he wouldn't tell me. He is my teacher first and last, and I've since learned that I would _never_ want to confuse that role with another." She shrugged, then grinned. "Once I'd lain with someone else, I found that my desire for him diminished." She giggled. "After I lay with still another, it diminished even more. I expect this is the natural course of things."

"But I want to wait, and hope—"

"And beat your head against that mountainous wall named Qui-Gon Jinn?" She harrumphed. "You're smarter than that." She laid a hand on his arm, tentative. "Obi-Wan, if your feelings run true then you'll keep them regardless of what you do. Denying yourself the pleasure of intimacy seems…" she paused, frowned, "misguided."

"I prefer to wait for love, and combine that intimacy with it. I don't want casual entertainments."

"Why not? That's like saying you should never enjoy igniting your lightsaber unless you're fighting for your life!"

A startled quiver streaked along his nerves; he hadn't thought of it that way before. "Challi," he finally decided aloud, "you are a very good friend."

"But you're not going to play with me tonight." She had the grace to curb her disappointment.

"No. Perhaps another night…"

"Well, Obi-Wan, my love-stricken friend, you have my contact code and you know where to find me." She rose, a supple undulation that seemed, as always, to defy gravity; he wished he could mimic it. "I'm off. I actually bought a suit for tonight, and I have to fetch it from A Level's."

"How did you get the money to shop at A Level's?" he asked, shocked.

She smirked. "I bartered for it."

Obi-Wan shook his head; A Level's was a prestigious couture store that served the interplanetary hangers-on of the Senate. She'd bartered a _lot_ for whatever it was.

Later that evening, Obi-Wan, dressed in pristine white trousers, tunic and boots, strode through the door of the great hall. He didn't want Challi to outshine him _entirely_, after all. The music was already playing when he arrived, and he was greeted by several laughing, swirling friends as he wove his way across the dance floor. He had thought he was looking for Challi until he laid eyes on his master; Qui-Gon stood tall and proud and serene, talking quietly with Master Windu in the corner near the punch bowls. The sight, from wide-legged stance to elaborating hands to strong, square shoulders, made his heart crash like a wave against his ribs, his mouth go dry. At that moment, a hand slid around his waist from behind; Challi had arrived. 

"Obi-Wan! You look delicious!"

He turned, and did a double-take at her attire: iridescent gold leggings hugged her muscled curves from toe to ribs, her breasts and shoulders covered by the most alluring of flowing fabrics that, while opaque, seemed to reveal even more for being so. Her braid was draped around her throat and held like a choker beneath her right ear. The effect was breathtaking, and he briefly reconsidered his earlier decision as his body warmed to the sight. "And you," he breathed, shocked at himself and his reaction. 

She dimpled. "Thank you. Come on, I want to dance and dance and dance!"

"A moment, if you please." He glanced briefly toward his master, who had by this time noticed his arrival. 

Challi rolled her eyes. "You're wasting your energy—and precious opportunities, my friend!" But her giggle spoiled the warning. "Two minutes, yes? That's all you get before we dance."

"As you wish." He smiled and bowed low before turning toward his teacher. 

Master Jinn had seen him, and his body flushed warmly as he noted that the man observed his approach. "Obi-Wan," he greeted, his austerity tempered by what seemed to be an honestly good mood. 

"Master Jinn, Master Windu." He bowed slightly. 

Windu surprised him by speaking warmly. "Why aren't you dancing already, Obi-Wan? I remember last year when you were the first to arrive and the last to leave; by the Force, I wondered where you found your energy."

"By the Force, sir," he joked, turning when his master chuckled. "Master, if you please… I request the honor of a dance or two this evening."

Master Jinn's face did not change, but he noted peripherally that Windu looked on with interest. "I would be honored indeed, Obi-Wan; I'll seek you out after you've dented your enthusiasm a bit."

"Masters." He bowed again, fairly bursting with pleasure, and went to find his partner for the evening.

And dance, he did: waltzes and forms, modern and classical, as the music and their moods demanded. Challi was a wonderful partner, and the dances she led made him feel as light as air. It was at least an hour into the evening when he felt his master's approach, with some internal awareness that scanned constantly for the presence of the man. He flushed and Challi, in his arms, snickered. "Your dream is not twenty feet away and closing quickly," she teased.

"He promised me a dance."

"Then by all means," she said, slowing them both, "let the fantasy continue!"

"Challi Viswan, you are meddlesome and cruel and all manner of unspeakably low things," he hissed. 

"Oh, absolutely. If I haven't found another temporary partner, I'll be on the grand balcony; come and find me when the drama is over."

By that time, his master was near enough that he could not reply; the imp always seemed to get the last word. "Obi-Wan, Padawan Viswan," he addressed her formally. "That is a lovely suit, young lady; I daresay you have caught the attention of many."

She offered Obi-Wan a pointed glance, and smiled charmingly at Master Jinn. "You flatter me, sir."

"As you flatter us all with your effervescence. I've watched the two of you; you're an excellent dance pair."

"Thank you, Master Jinn. I'm glad Master Jakkir recommended us for tonight."

"As are all observers. The pair of you are striking in look and deed."

Obi-Wan grinned at Challi and stuck out his tongue. _See? _ he wanted to say, _he's as charming as a Barrayaran button-mouse. _

"Again, I thank you," she replied, truly pleased. A young couple swinging wide on a turn brushed close enough to stir the fabric of her suit. "I understand you wish to borrow Obi-Wan for a dance or two; perhaps I should leave you to it before the children bowl us all over."

Qui-Gon laughed, a genuine rumble that sparked electricity along Obi-Wan's nerves. "Yes, miss, I believe you're right. Thank you for the loan."

"Thank _you, _ Master Jinn, for the respite." With that polite hand-off, she took her leave. 

Obi-Wan turned to his master, flushed with pleasure. "You lead."

Qui-Gon nodded and took two steps closer, raising his hands to mirror Obi-Wan's, and they slid seamlessly into the music. As wonderful a partner as Challi was, she paled to nothingness when compared to Master Jinn. It wasn't just that his steps were more proficient, or even that his leading felt so much like their work in the practice squares; it was that Obi-Wan knew himself to be deeply in love, and it was an effort of will to keep from staring only and forever into those smiling blue eyes. Windows to the soul, the eyes were called, and while that wasn't strictly true he read the contented indulgence in his master's eyes all too well. The warm look wasn't patronizing, thank the Force… nor was it reciprocal. He sighed, giving himself over only to the moment, and when the music changed and Master Jinn slid his arm lightly around Obi-Wan's waist, Obi-Wan practically wriggled with pleasure. 

"Is that a new move that the young people have invented?" his master asked, feigning ignorance, Obi-Wan supposed.

"Oh, yes, Master," he answered with a sigh. "If not for all the young people, certainly for me, when you hold me thus." His master's slight stiffening didn't escape his notice, and his next sigh wasn't so happy. "I'm sorry, Master. I meant no offense."

"And none was taken, Padawan. I am merely at a loss as to how to respond."

Obi-Wan could think of a number of responses that he would appreciate to no end, but he held his tongue. His master had not forgotten such things, no matter what Challi's gossip circle insinuated. He waited, swinging with the moves of the waltz, feeling the heat of his master's shoulder where his palm rested lightly. Much of his attention was split between that small contact and the feel of Master Jinn's arm at his waist, the large, warm hand that lightly rested at the small of his back. He waited for his master to gather what thoughts he would, and concentrated on enjoying the moment. 

Finally, his teacher spoke, his tone as serious and somber as any lecture on Light and Dark, on life and death. "I am enriched by your feelings, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said quietly. "But they are feelings I must not return."

"Must not?" he asked hopefully, "or do not?"

"Both. I am your teacher, your mentor; the responsibility you and I have taken on together is profound, and I would not permit myself to succumb to such a feeling for you."

The concept confused him; how could one deny a feeling? Ignore it, yes; work through it, possibly; but deny it? He'd had no such luck with his growing love for his teacher. "Permit?" he pondered, twirling at the slight rising of Master Jinn's palm. "Love isn't something one can control, is it?"

Master Jinn sighed as he replaced his palm at Obi-Wan's back. "Many things can and should be controlled, Obi-Wan. Love… I won't say it's an easy emotion to master, but it can be done, and you may want to focus your attention on the task."

"But why must that be so? The greatest writings of love suggest a clarity, not clouds; they speak of two hearts burning true, beating in time…"

"As our two hearts do not. Mine must lead you, now and for some years to come." Master Jinn sighed as the music rose to its final crescendo, and whirled them toward the edge of the dance floor before finally dropping his hands. "I sympathize deeply with your feelings, and with the difficulties they will bring you; unrequited love is by its nature a painful thing. I wish it could be otherwise for you."

It could be, his young heart insisted, but he knew better than to argue with his master in public. So he smiled again, absorbing the pain his teacher's empathy evoked. "As do I," he murmured. "So I'll settle for more dances, Master."

Qui-Gon smiled. "You're playing with fire, lad."

"I'm not," he denied. "I know what I want, and if I can't have it then at least I can satisfy myself with your company. So we'll dance again this evening?"

"This night and other nights, Obi-Wan," his master said with all the affection Obi-Wan knew the man held for him. "But know that in this my mind cannot be changed."

"Yes, Master."

The calm pronunciation dampened his enjoyment of the evening, but he accepted it as truth, and truth must never be disregarded. Challi, when he found her, was swirling on the dance floor with Hartmal Keene, an apprentice two years Obi-Wan's senior. They made a pretty couple, and he wondered if he should leave her to him in case she wanted a bed partner for the evening. But the next dance ended and, cheeks flushed with the joy of movement, she glided back to him. "The two of you were beautiful, Obi-Wan," she said without preamble.

"I thank you, Challi. But it was merely a dance."

"You proclaimed your feelings, then?"

He frowned, feeling a creeping depression try to take him. "Yes."

"And…?"

"And he said it was not to be, that the relationship between master and padawan must not be distorted by affairs of the heart."

Her face showed true compassion, and somehow that alleviated the worst of his pain. "That's much what Master Jakkir told me, when I suggested further intimacies. Of course, I was fourteen at the time." She grinned, looking that age even now, before sobering. "I'm sorry, Obi-Wan. Though I still have no idea what you continue to see in him—well, other than the obvious," she smiled gracefully, "I wish you only happiness." She took his hand and led him onto the floor as a sprightly tune began, and they lost themselves in the music and the laughter for what must have been hours. 

Much later in the evening, after the crowd had thinned a bit—the younger apprentices either fading from youthful exhaustion or being herded off by their wiser masters—Obi-Wan bade his leave of Challi once more. "I want one more dance with him," he said, feeling stubborn and selfish and still hopeful, for all his master's honest words. He leaned in close to her. "Ask the orchestra for the dance of faces," he whispered. 

Her eyes widened in surprise. "It won't help matters."

"You're right; I know that. But if I can't share in his body as I wish, I can maneuver one simple kiss, can't I? Is that seeking too much?"

"Only your conscience can tell you that."

He thought for a moment, relieved when his conscience agreed heartily that it was a wonderful idea, and bounced on the balls of his feet. "It seems my conscience is in league with my heart. Make them play it, Challi."

"As you wish, my friend."

He approached his master while the band still played the waltz, noting out of the corner of his eye that Challi was indeed approaching the bandmistress. She would do this for him even if it required bribery, he knew—and he would be grateful, even when he had to make good on the bribe.

Master Jinn had seated himself along the wall and held a cup of fruit nectar in a simple plastic goblet. Master Yoda had made an appearance, and the two spoke quietly together. "Master?" he murmured, intruding carefully.

"Yes, Obi-Wan?"

"Our last dance for the evening?"

Yoda's ears quirked unmistakably. "Impetuous Padawan you are, and stubborn," he said, but there seemed no true censure in the elder's voice. "Dance with playmates your own age, you should."

"As I have, Master Yoda, for most of the evening." He was fairly bursting with energy, and he knew the old master wasn't terribly serious; many Padawans danced at least once with their masters at formal gatherings.

Qui-Gon reached out a stilling hand, and Master Yoda, amazingly, kept his counsel. "As you wish, Padawan." He set his cup on a side table and rose, and again Obi-Wan was struck by the sheer bulk and majesty of the man. As they walked together to the dance floor, the waltz ended and the dance of faces began. Silently he thanked Challi even as his master offered a frown. "Was this your doing?"

"Perhaps, Master," he whispered; suddenly the room seemed low on air. His voice felt faint and dry in his throat, and it was only his growing control that kept Force-whispers of joy from radiating through him and bouncing about the hall.

"Obi-Wan," Master Jinn began, then paused.

"Yes, Master?"

But the man only sighed, and held out his arms. "You will learn in time that having a small part of what you want is often more painful than having none of it at all. You may lead."

His heart thudded in his chest; the leader of this dance decided most of its terms, and so it was with some effort that he controlled the rampant anticipation of his body. "I thank you, Master."

"Later, you probably won't." His voice was foreboding, but Obi-Wan would not be deterred. He placed his hands at his master's elbows and stepped forward until their bodies very nearly touched, observing with some excitement as the remaining couples did the same. Males brushed with males, males with females, and females together, and the sensuality of the movements was thick in the air. He could tell, merely from watching this dance, who would couple later this evening and who would not, and while he knew in his head that he and his master were in the latter group, there was nothing wrong with pretending, at least for the next ten minutes. 

The dance of faces was erotic indeed. Obi-Wan remembered when he had first learned its nuances, in a class with Master Wadlen. His body had responded in all manner of joyful ways, but the mistress of this dance had been politic, and held her tongue. He supposed it was normal.

Their right hipbones brushed, and Obi-Wan felt the telltale heat in his groin, reveled in it. Their chests pressed briefly together and Obi-Wan could feel his master's heartbeat through flesh and cloth. Their palms, pressed together like lovers, were becoming damp, and Obi-Wan knew it was his own body's response, and cared not at all. He had to lean up, and Qui-Gon down, for them to brush cheeks as the moves required, and the coarse beard sent an arrow of passion straight through his belly. Foreheads, noses, and finally lips came together as the dance continued, as Qui-Gon held to formality and followed Obi-Wan's lead with quiet grace. Obi-Wan wasn't faring quite so well, but he was thankful indeed for his master's indulgence as he slid his right arm up Qui-Gon's left, slipping his hand under the body-warm fall of hair to cup the strong neck gently. Its heat fairly sizzled against his sensitized palm, and he drew in a ragged breath. As the music reached its crescendo, he leaned up once more… and parted his lips. Qui-Gon froze before him, his closed mouth millimeters from Obi-Wan's own, but after that brief hesitation Obi-Wan felt the sigh of expelled breath against his lips, warm and moist and smelling of his master, before that last distance closed between them.

He had yet to kiss another, and this pressing of mouth to mouth was electrifying. As leader, it was his choice to set the tone, and eagerly he pressed his tongue inside, met his teacher's which responded in kind. Appropriately, Obi-Wan knew, following as the leader directed. As the dance demanded. The saliva-slick muscle touched his, and abruptly he feared he would find release right here on the dance floor with almost two hundred dancers around them. 

He didn't care. 

Deepening the kiss, he heard his own groan, felt Qui-Gon's big hands move to his shoulders and hold him carefully, neither pushing him away nor letting him move closer… not strictly permitted by the follower, but he respected the gesture in spite of his own aching member and his own burning need. He would not dishonor his teacher by humping against him like an animal on heat when obviously being held at bay, no matter how much he wished to do so. Amazing, really, that he could skim so close to ecstasy fully clothed in a room full of people.

The music faded, and it was Master Jinn who drew away, a stern and somehow saddened look in his eyes. "Was it as you wished, my Padawan?" he asked, his tone distant and formal.

"All that and more, my Master."

His master sighed, and stepped away, gesturing him to follow back to the chairs. 

Master Yoda waited, his eyelids wrinkled with attention. "Impetuous young man you are," he scolded. "As stubborn as your master."

"Yes, Master Yoda," he said by rote, his body still flushed with desire.

"And you, Qui-Gon Jinn? What say you?"

"I'll survive, Master," he said quietly. "This was Obi-Wan's dance; he is sixteen years young, and free to choose his own course."

"To a point, Padawan Kenobi," Yoda scolded once more. "Only to a point. Dishonor not your master, nor your own feelings for him."

He flushed, from excitement or discomfort, he couldn't say. "Never, Master Yoda!"

"Difficult are matters of the heart. If you love another enough, increase his own difficulties you will not."

Startled, Obi-Wan looked to his master, but the man was studying the dance floor with sober eyes that revealed nothing. "Yes, Master Yoda. I thank you for your instruction." Had he taken advantage? He did not believe so; the dance of faces, while not often played, had been taught him along with all the others, and was permissible here or the orchestra would never have performed it. Boldly he added, "But my master can take care of himself."

Yoda, the old soul, merely snorted. "Hmmm, ahh. Now shoo. Go!" Obi-Wan deftly avoided the old master's stick. "Abandoned your assigned partner, you have. Go to her now and bother us no more."

"As you wish, Master Yoda. Thank you for the dance, Master Jinn," he added, seeking his beloved's eyes.

When they found his, they were still cool, distant. "Of course, Padawan."

He extended his senses as he walked away, filtering sounds until he heard only the two voices behind him. "A challenge, he is," Yoda complained. Always complaining, was Yoda.

"Yes," Jinn sighed, "he always has been."

"Filled with youthful fire."

"Yes, Yoda." Pacifying.

"And you, Qui-Gon. A challenge you are meeting?"

Master Jinn's "Of course, Master," sounded faintly surprised.

"His light is housed in a form that well reflects it."

"Yes," and the voice was a bit warmer, now, "he is beautiful."

"He is a child."

"Yes. And he is becoming an adult. He has seen sixteen years, he has the right to choose his own heart… and suffer the consequences." The melancholy tone in his master's voice startled him, bringing with it a tinge of fear.

"Hmmm, yes, consequences," Master Yoda replied. "Perhaps for you both."

"Don't overstep your bounds, Yoda." Admonishing—it always amazed Obi-Wan when his master admonished Master Yoda. "You know my heart in this matter better than any being. Obi-Wan is my padawan, and my responsibility, and I never forget that. Never."

"Hrmpph. Insolent as ever. Overstep my bounds, pahh! Step where I like, I will. Step where the Force guides my feet, I will."

"Yes, Yoda." Again placating, and Obi-Wan grinned in awe.

A whack followed that could only be Master Yoda's stick against flesh. "Heed me in this, Qui-Gon. Young Kenobi thinks he knows his heart. Thinks he knows yours. Rebellious, he is. This pairing may serve him not."

Qui-Gon snorted with laughter, and Obi-Wan felt warmed by the instant defense. "And I thought you said he'd learn to conform by having me as a counter-example."

"Ahhhmmm, yes, said it I did. Insolent, the pair of you. Deserve each other as teacher and student, you do. Even now, seeking praise and false hope, he listens to us."

Obi-Wan jerked physically, and let his senses fade to normal. The din of the great hall swallowed up their voices, and he blushed with embarrassment. Shash, but Master Yoda was sensitive! Well that should have been obvious enough, he chided himself. Doubtless Master Jinn would have a lecture prepared on the inappropriateness of selfish eavesdropping… but Master Jinn had called him beautiful, and for that knowledge, the lecture would be worth it. He was once again filled with joy; his heart swelled at his master's pride, and his body felt weak with relief that he had not overstepped his bounds. And his lips… they still tingled faintly from the press of Qui-Gon's. He felt saliva building inside his mouth, but he was loathe to swallow; the faint taste of his master was there, and he wanted to savor it for as long as possible. 

"You're hopeless, you know." Challi's voice at his side startled him.

"Where did you come from?" he blurted.

"I could have roared up on a speeder and you wouldn't have noticed. That was quite a show."

"You didn't dance the dance?"

"With whom? My partner of choice was out there rubbing against his teacher, leaving me to decorate the banquet table and eat."

Instantly contrite, Obi-Wan said, "I'm sorry to have left you this evening, Challi. Please forgive me."

But she smiled, her wisdom shining through blue eyes that were very nearly the same color as his master's. "There's nothing to forgive; you're smitten, all right." Then her smile turned impish. "Was it worth it?"

He licked his lips, again savoring the phantom press of his master's mouth to his own, and grinned. "Oh, yes. Definitely."

"Then I'm glad for you. Come along, Obi-Wan, we have an hour left until lights-down, and I for one want to dance the entire time!"

An hour later, as the lights began to dim and the orchestra began packing their instruments, he felt again the brush of Challi's hand on his arm. "You could still come back to my quarters with me, you know."

As close as they were, he still had no desire to do so. He found himself glancing sidelong at the empty space his master had occupied until a half-hour ago, and knew what his answer must be. "I can't. I… you deserve better than a distracted bed partner whose mind would be with someone else."

She shrugged, considered. "You're right about that." Then she sighed. "When you move past this, Obi-Wan, call on me. It would please me to no end to share your first intimate pleasures—but only if you'll be with _me._ As the friend you are. You understand?"

He understood perfectly. "I may do that, Challi," he smiled, and took his leave.

When Obi-Wan returned to their quarters, he found his master sprawled along the sofa, reading _Republic Today_ on an antigrav viewer and sipping tea. Unbidden, a happy smile crossed his face. 

Without glancing up his master said, "I had hoped you'd find a way to enjoy the rest of the night, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan, for one, was done with skirting the issue. "Did you ask Master Jakkir to pair me with Challi?"

"Yes." Qui-Gon set down his tea cup and rolled to a sitting position. 

"Because you sensed that she wanted me?"

"Yes."

The honest admission disappointed him immeasurably. "I thought my sexuality was my own affair. Private."

"It is as private as any part of a padawan's life can be. Until you make it public. And you certainly managed _that_ this evening."

"I did nothing wrong!" He was sure of it, even as he checked himself at every step, wondering what he didn't see.

Master Jinn sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. "Wrong, no. Public, very. When you look upon me with such open adoration, you set a poor example for other learners."

"Are you telling me I've behaved inappropriately?" He was deeply shocked, if truth be told; he had been mindful, ever since his master's comments two years previous, of what his body and actions said to the world, and he was certain he had committed no error.

"For a young man in love? Of course not. But that isn't all you are. For a padawan… not yet," Master Jinn replied carefully. "You came very close, though. Your desire, and the manipulation it led you to, was there for all too see."

"But the dance of faces—"

"Was a convenient excuse to indulge your fantasies. Nothing more." His master's eyes pierced him, seemed to look directly into his soul. "Can you say otherwise? Can you say the selection was an accident?"

"I—no, it was no accident, Master," he said quietly, confused. "It was… I wanted to kiss you. The dance of faces permitted such closeness in an acceptable way that did not risk your honor."

"And would not leave me a choice in the matter," his master added firmly. "Is that your idea of intimacy?" He frowned, and for a horrible second Obi-Wan thought he was about to get additional study assignments. But his master merely shook his head and said, "I told you you were due for disappointment, Obi-Wan."

"But I'm not disappointed." He still felt the heaviness of his limbs, still felt the contrasting lightheadedness. No, he wasn't disappointed at all.

Master Jinn seemed flustered at that, and Obi-Wan watched as the man searched for the right words—a rare occurrence indeed for such a skilled diplomat as he. "If unwilling participation appeals to you, padawan, then we have a great deal of work to do." Ahh. _There_ was the threat of additional study assignments. 

"I'm not saying that." And he wasn't. He became more compassionate, more empathic with every cycle; it made egocentrism difficult in the extreme. Now he floundered in his own mind as he searched the dance, searched his impressions. Then, feeling his heart thump hard, he looked up at his master. "You weren't unwilling."

"I was hardly enthusiastic."

"But you weren't unwilling. I'd have known, I'm sure of it." His heart thumped again, and he felt the flush of heat as blood suffused his skin. 

"Don't get your hopes up, padawan," Master Jinn answered cuttingly. "I was being polite. Patient. Tolerant."

Obi-Wan searched again, and found the words to be true. "Um. Yes."

"And that's close enough to ‘willing' to satisfy your need?"

"No." The leaden weight that pressed in on his chest made it difficult to breathe, to keep the food he'd eaten securely in his belly. "No."

"I told you," he said quietly, "you were due for disappointment."

He stared up at Master Jinn, his entire body feeling leaden and thick, like the mass at the heart of a star. He swallowed, closed his eyes to gain control of his body before he became violently ill. _Polite. Tolerant. _ Those words had never seemed repugnant to him, before. "Master…" he hesitated, feeling unprepared for an answer whatever it might be, but… _Patient. Tolerant. _ The words swam in his head, insults somehow that made what he felt seem inconsequential and small. "Master, you imagine too, don't you? You imagine, and explore yourself just as I do." 

Master Jinn nodded his understanding. "Occasionally."

"Do you imagine me in your private moments?"

The shutters closed so abruptly it was nearly physical, and the small steps that separated them became a chasm. "I do not," he said flatly. "I would not."

The censure was clear. "Then why is it acceptable that I imagine you?" Master Jinn's hand raised to his brow, rubbing at frown lines there, and Obi-Wan felt guilt slash through the heaviness in him. "I'm sorry," he whispered, miserable. "I have no wish to cause you pain. I just—I don't understand. I don't understand any of this."

"You don't cause me pain, Padawan," he said, his voice so distant he might have been standing in another tower across the Temple grounds. "You cause yourself pain, and only for this do I grieve. As to your question… youth runs a narrower channel, and therefore more swiftly, with more energy and aggression than does age. Only time will teach you the answer to your question. For now, all I can say is that it is permissible, and not abnormal, that you fantasize about me when you masturbate. Though doing so doesn't necessarily serve either one of us."

He couldn't keep standing here talking like this. He'd be crying in a moment, and for the first time since he had become this man's padawan he didn't want to let himself be seen. "I'd like… I'm going to bed, if there's nothing else?"

Master Jinn nodded, watching him calmly. "Nothing for now. We'll talk more in the morning."

He counted himself lucky for the respite, said "Yes, Master," and fairly bolted from the salon.

Many hours later, Obi-Wan continued to lie wide awake on his bed, thoughts awhirl. His mind skittered along the edges of that kiss and the incredible passion it had stirred inside him. Had it stirred nothing in his master? _Patience. Tolerance. _ He wanted to spit, the words were so hateful. And yet he knew his master was only being honest.

Shash. That just made worse. 

He remembered the conversation, turning it over and over in his mind. His master had called him beautiful, said so even in front of Master Yoda. His master had kissed him… _in a fashion you manipulated. He made that clear enough. _ His master had been polite, just as Obi-Wan had followed protocol and touched his closed lips to Master Wadlen's when she had taught him the dance of faces. He hadn't considered that a kiss, with Master Wadlen. Perhaps Master Jinn hadn't considered it a kiss with him, either. But his own body had ignited like dry tinder touched by lightning…

Over and over, around and around his thoughts chased themselves, and when the morning sun added its own special hue to the lights of the City, he was no closer to understanding. 

He lay in his bed until he sensed Master Jinn in the main room, and finally dragged himself up. Went directly to the fresher and bathed before joining his master at the breakfast table. Master Jinn sat waiting for him, sipping tea, and Obi-Wan looked with distaste at the plates set before him. He felt not even a twinge of hunger.

"Padawan." The "teaching posture" was in evidence from the ramrod spine to the subtle stiffness of facial muscles, and Obi-Wan braced himself. 

"Master."

"I have a question." 

"Yes, Master?"

"How do you know you love me?"

"Because my heart soars when I look upon you."

"Anything else? Is there anything quantifiable?"

"It's because of who you are, what you are."

"So you love other Jedi masters similarly?"

Shash. They were playing the logic game. Any second now Qui-Gon would start asking _why. _ "No, master. Your light is unique to you."

"As we are all unique. But we are all similar, as well."

"But it is your flame that draws me."

"Why?"

Obi-Wan had to admit in the privacy of his own mind that he didn't much like the man when they got into conversations like this. He still loved him, but he didn't particularly like him. "You fill my heart, Master," he said tiredly. "Is that not enough?"

"Enough for what, Obi-Wan?"

He kicked at the table leg, frustrated, and resorted to solipsism. "Indeed, Master, enough for what?"

A sigh. "You say I fill your heart."

"Absolutely."

"So as your teacher I must tell you this; your heart has not reached even half its capacity to contain something such as love. It is still young and undeveloped, and it has much growing to do."

"Nonetheless," he said stubbornly, "it is full now."

"I'm honored by that love, Padawan." Quietly, barely a whisper, and Obi-Wan felt his entire focus move to those lips that had touched his last night, the tongue that moved behind white teeth, which had stroked around and against his last night. _Politely. _ "But what you feel is confused with what your growing body has begun to demand. They aren't the same thing."

Obi-Wan pursed his lips in irritation, felt his arms crossing stubbornly of their own volition. "If you're going to tell me that I do not feel passion for you—you, specifically and personally—when I know I do, I'll call you liar, Master. And you've never been that to me."

Master Jinn looked pained, his brows drawing downward, his mouth tightening. Finally he said, "And I will not be now. I cannot speak for you in this, Obi-Wan Kenobi. I can only speak for myself. While my love for you knows no bounds, it knows many rules. Learn of a boundless love, Padawan, and take comfort in that. Leave this sexual passion behind."

Love? Oh, he understood all the nuances of that word. For the first time he felt patronized, treated like a child. The sting burned at his heart and compelled him to abrupt accusation. "If you truly loved me, you'd—"

"What?" his master cut him off, the words short and clipped with irritation. "Engage in sexual congress with you? Let you pretend we shared intimacy when we do not? That would prove my love for you?" He waved a dismissive hand, and pulled his plate toward himself. "Yoda was right, in some ways you're still a child."

"I'm not asking for proof! I'm asking for _you!_ I _don't_ doubt your love for me, Master. I just don't understand how you can so easily separate love from desire, when I find it a task impossible to accomplish!"

Master Jinn rose and swept toward him in a flurry of fabric and energy until he towered over Obi-Wan's chair. Obi-Wan felt his mouth go dry. "I separate them, Padawan, because they are separable; love and desire are _not_ the same things." As his master began to pace, Obi-Wan surreptitiously slid out of his chair. He wouldn't be able to listen if the man swept up over him like that again. "I've been thinking about this problem," he continued, "and I want you to know I'm contemplating sending you to a public sex worker to make you understand your error."

"I wouldn't go." The core of him was clear on this, and he felt his hands fisting against his thighs, felt his feet planting themselves more firmly against the floor, digging in for a fight. 

Thunderous look. "If I command you, Padawan, you will obey."

It was a battle of wills, and every time he did it Obi-Wan wondered what he was thinking, to engage in such with this man. "If you commanded me," he grated, "you would be exercising your position over my private life. I would have a right to refuse, and refuse I would."

"The rule applies only to the parts of your life that you actually _keep_ private. You know you haven't."

"You said yourself that I have yet to overstep a boundary. So I've done well enough to make my own decisions in this."

Qui Gon's tone softened. "You imagine that I'd give you an order that wasn't for your ultimate benefit, when your mind knows that isn't true. You're ruled by your emotions now more than you've been since I took you as my padawan learner. How long should we continue before the problem is addressed? What kind of teacher would I be, Obi-Wan, if I let you continue to suffer under this… misapprehension?"

The words were quiet and logical. Gentle. Passionless. While Obi-Wan felt the blaze of emotion running through him, colored from the red heat of anger right down to the icy black of betrayal. "How can you stand there and feel nothing?!" he blurted, nearly shouting at the man. "I tossed and turned this entire night, and I still don't understand it! How can you look at me and at what I feel for you, and feel nothing in return?! Love is nurtured by more love, like plants are nurtured by water. I know this is true." He poked his finger against his own sternum, emphasizing. "I know it in here."

The lecturing position again, and his master looked truly forbidding. He remembered the look from years past, but it no longer intimidated him. "One: Love is not quid pro quo. Two: you insult us both by suggesting that I feel nothing for you. Three: if you indeed knew in your heart that love is nurtured by love, then you would know exactly how deeply I feel for you, and you'd have great insight about why you feel as you do for _me. _" A pause, a breath, a gathering of calm, and his master became the still cool eye in the midst of Obi-Wan's emotional storm. "Four: I do love you, as you well know. I love you more deeply, in fact, than you can yet understand. But my love for you is wider than yours for me. In some ways, my love for you is more that of a parent for a child." The hand that touched his shoulder was familiar and kind, and utterly platonic. With it came a near-physical pain. "I was forty-one years old when I first saw you. You were—what, five? Six? I'd been a man for over twenty years and had more than my measure of sexual pleasure. As your teacher, in some ways I will always see that child in you. This is as it should be, Obi-Wan." Master Jinn's eyes softened, reflecting the Force-fed core of the man. "And, for good or ill, I have never found children sexually desirable."

The words, cool like water, assuaged the fires in him, leaving only a vague shame at his loss of control. But still he was compelled to pursue, to understand fully rather than leave himself open only to pain. He reached up and covered the big hand on his shoulder with his own. "But you were a child once as well, as are most beings. We leave childhood behind, Master, and we become adults, and everything changes: caterpillar to chrysalis to butterfly, and the caterpillar is no more. You've said so yourself."

His master sighed yet again, and withdrew his hand. "That is true enough, but the hand that feeds the caterpillar always sees it, even in the butterfly."

"Always?" 

Those wide lips parted in a wry grin. "I was generalizing. But Obi-Wan, your training is still early in its years, and there are other forces in play. When you seek my approval and my attention so single-mindedly, you fail to hear your own heart, and the Force as it whispers within you; instead you listen only for me. I am not your conscience. I am not the one who determines right and wrong for you, success or failure. I am merely your teacher, your guide to finding your own path in the Force. That is the contract you and I have undertaken together, and your passion for me interferes with this contract."

"I…" Obi-Wan found himself without words. It had never occurred to him that he was making his master more important to him than himself, than his training, than his own path. "I…"

Master Jinn's eyes warmed slightly, and he quirked an eyebrow. "I am your teacher first and foremost. Would you bid me disregard that obligation?"

‘Never, Master' should have sprung from his lips, but he managed again only a feeble, "I…" 

"Would you bid me follow _your_ heart instead of my own?"

He was beginning to understand and oh, it hurt. His own conscience was achingly clear on the subject. "No, Master," he whispered, throat tight. "Each being must follow his own path, and if your path is not with me—at least not in this way… I must accept that." He felt his brow furrowing, recalled a serenity meditation to ease it; this was his pain, not Master Jinn's. "I must also accept that… that my feelings for you… may damage my ability to learn from you, that you are neither my god nor my universe, but my teacher." He glanced up again, locking gazes with those beloved blue eyes, asked, "Is this not correct, Master?"

"What does your conscience tell you?"

The image of Master Jinn began to blur as his chest constricted and tears filled his eyes to overflowing. Their heat scalded, etching pain down his cheeks and chin, somehow joining up with the ravenous snake that constricted the length of his windpipe, squeezing so tightly he feared his throat would be crushed. "It tells me I am correct," he managed, voice cracking harshly, "and that I must not love you so."

Master Jinn nodded, and waited, obviously seeking something more from him. He almost expected a "why?" but his master remained silent. Obi-Wan worked hard to unknot the tangled skein of emotion that roiled through him, feeling in some way tested, now as always. The tears kept rolling down his cheeks, collecting along his jaw before dripping down onto his tunic. He wouldn't even raise a hand to remove or deny them. But denial and control were two very different things. "My love for you is not wrong. I would know, if it was. But it must have and keep its place." For the first time, looking at and longing for the man who had already given him so much, who sacrificed so much in order to see him and others like him grow strong in the Force and meet their own destinies, Obi-Wan understood how a gift could be a burden. Still, he had to ask, he had to know—and Qui-Gon had promised him honesty. "Do you feel nothing for me, my Master? No spark of interest, no desire? Am I somehow lacking in this area?"

His master's laughter, clear and pure, rang through the room like a bell. "The flesh which houses you clearly reflects the spirit that lives within. Of course you aren't lacking in this area. But, Padawan, a sunrise can only be appreciated by a being with eyes to see it. I do not have the eyes to see you with passion."

"And I can't teach you to see?" he asked, clinging tenaciously to hope. 

"You are the student. There is nothing you can teach me in this area at this time. And now, I beg you, seek out your pleasures with other lovers, and leave this behind."

"No!" Hotly. "I want no other lovers."

Master Jinn sighed and returned to his chair and his meal, chewing absently on bread and cheese. "Then your next few years will be lonely indeed, and I feel great sorrow for that."

Obi-Wan dragged his plate toward him, forcing down the food because he'd be ordered to otherwise; his physical training schedule was heavy today. He knew his master was being honest, yet somehow it seemed easier to bear a love unrequited than to bear no love at all. Was he so different from other padawans, that he and he alone refused to give up a feeling so deep, so rich, so full? Or were there others like him, battling their positions and their desires?

As he emptied his plate he realized that it didn't matter. He would not, he could not give up this feeling; it was too precious. And if only he felt it, and if it was a gift as his master had said, it was his responsibility alone to see that it no longer be a burden for either of them. Casting a furtive glance at his master, he wondered if he would ever touch himself to sleep with the memory of that appropriated kiss, of those hands warm and large against him. He thought not. He wondered if Challi, or Hartmal Keene or a host of others would grace his mind in the late-night hours, and again, he thought not. He curled in upon himself, feeling almost unbearably alone; it seemed the monastic life was his, and while painful in the extreme, he could see no other way.

He must now measure his love for his teacher against his own will, against the voice of the Force inside him, and he could never let his need for love from the man speak louder than the Force. He had no idea how to accomplish that task, no idea how anyone could. But for now, he would put away the memory of that kiss, of those formal touches, of his sexual desires, and to the best of his ability, think of them no more.


	3. Marching Ever Onward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The return to Shalsteer_

Obi-Wan was seventeen and quickly approaching his eighteenth year when he had cause to visit Shalsteer again. Unfortunately, this trip was proving to be an adventure. The palace had been looted, the queen and her advisors had barely escaped the planet with their lives and even now were in refuge on Coruscant, pleading with a divided Senate. Half of Shalsteer's congress had been assassinated, the rest were in hiding. He and Qui-Gon, holed up in a narrow canyon in the hills above the capital city of Litayan, worked diligently to understand the complaints of the rebels and to decide what course of action, if any, to recommend to the Chancellor. Ten yards away, a tiny rebel encampment went almost silently about its nightly business; he could sense the sentries pacing the perimeter.

The night was cold, and stars shone brightly overhead, twinkling through the thick atmosphere. Barely four miles away he could just make out the hulk of the capital; what power still existed was centered mainly around the spaceport, quasi-neutral territory in almost any planetary war.

The palace itself was in ruin; half of the superstructure had been taken out by energy weapons—the other snarl in this little conflict: where had the lower classes acquired such heavy armaments? Weapons like that did not come cheap. For it was indeed a conflict between rich and poor, between enfranchised and disenfranchised, and Queen Abitar's charm had not, after all, settled a hungry and unhappy people.

"This is a classic example of a planet that embraced interstellar trade too quickly," he whispered, stating the obvious and hearing the morose tone in his own voice.

"So it would seem, Padawan," Master Jinn whispered back. There was no censure in his voice, nor had Obi-Wan expected any; wars such as this, so needless, so pointless, troubled him greatly. If only the rigid ruling class had been able to learn more quickly, had become flexible instead of remaining brittle, these tensions might never have broken into global conflict.

"I still don't understand how a culture can care more about its dogmas than about life," he grumbled. He wasn't sure if it was the days without sleep or his empty belly or the sprained wrist he held gingerly in his lap that fed his low spirits, and at the moment he didn't care. He squirmed on his outer cloak, seeking a more comfortable position for his backside and his injury, and managed only to bruise his hip on a jutting rock. He sighed. "I'm glad the queen escaped unharmed," he mumbled on; the camp was in full blackout, and on this moonless night he could just make out his master's form huddled two feet to his right. He actually preferred the darkness; Qui-Gon had gotten himself caught up in a battle while on reconnaissance to the capital city of Litayan, and was covered in dirt and gore. Not his own, thankfully; Obi-Wan still felt the aftereffects of the adrenalin that had flooded him when his master had returned to camp, his robe blood-soaked and covered with mud. Apparently one of the recently dead had fallen on him as he made his escape, for Qui-Gon assured him he was uninjured.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, had managed to make a bad fall that even a child shouldn't have made while avoiding a royal scouting party three hours past, and his wrist burned like fire.

"Let me see that," Qui-Gon said in hushed tones.

Turning carefully, Obi-Wan extended his left arm, felt large fingers encircle his wrist, and actually smiled through the pain as his master manipulated the limb; he had come far indeed, so far that this rare and emotionless touch of skin to skin no longer set his blood afire.

"What is it, Padawan?" Qui-Gon whispered, catching either the glint of his teeth in the dark, or the less subtle rise in his spirits.

"Nothing, Master." He cast about, and actually laughed. "I remember the time before my first visit here, when I longed for adventure and feared the galaxy was settling down!" He shook his head. "I was so naïve."

"Not naïve," Qui-Gon said; his arm began to tingle, and he offered silent thanks for his master's healing skills. "Hopeful, perhaps?"

But Obi-Wan shook his head, still laughing quietly. "No. I remember wishing fervently that there would be adventure left for me by the time I became a man."

Qui-Gon chuckled at that. "Always adventure enough, don't you think?"

"Always, Master." Dozens of missions between then and now, many so dangerous he breathed his thanks to the Force that they had escaped unscathed. As dangerous as this mission was. Risky, to let his mind wander even for a moment, but circles had a way of completing themselves, and it felt natural to consider his master here and now, on the planet where he had first learned to put his attention elsewhere.

They hadn't spoken of his feelings since the spring recital eighteen cycles past, though the new distance between them spoke more clearly than words ever could; he had nudged his master away. Not too far, thank the Force, but what he could only call professionalism had begun to color their relationship within weeks of that dance. Obi-Wan accepted it, and his responsibility in it, and at the spring dance five cycles ago, had honored his master by requesting nothing of him.

What they had was enough; he loved Qui-Gon Jinn with a fervor that he feared would never be matched for another, but with a distance that kept that fervor from coloring his life or his training. Their old, intimate laughter had faded from their lives, replaced by an even deeper dedication to duty. For himself, Obi-Wan had noted idly that giving his sexual energies to the Force had further focused his mind, and he knew he was advancing faster than many of his peers.

Master Jinn was proud… but they never spoke of the forces behind his advancements. He supposed they both knew. Yes, his master was proud; Obi-Wan, out of respect for both Qui-Gon and himself, made a point of assessing his own actions outside the boundaries of his love. They argued more often than they had before, though perhaps more mildly as well, and Obi-Wan had become both more stubborn and more respectful of a Code that his master easily and happily ignored. It appeared that they balanced each other quite well.

So asceticism had its rewards, after all. Challi Viswan still rolled her eyes whenever they spoke of his chastity, but those conversations became more rare as the cycles flew by. For her part, she had thrown herself into her sexuality with happy vigor and seemed none the worse for it; he wondered how she had achieved such a balance when so many others floundered through this transition.

"What time shall we break camp tomorrow, Master?" he asked quietly, sighing with relief as the pain in his wrist faded entirely. If not fully healed, he was at least fully functional. A good night's sleep would do the rest. Carefully, he drew his arm away from the man's gentle touch.

"Just before dawn. I want to make my way to the palace, and speak to the generals on site; I wonder if perhaps they aren't as honest with themselves as they think."

_Who is? _ He almost said it aloud, but it was a bitter thought, and it didn't deserve voice. "You believe they deceive themselves?"

"I believe, as you pointed out, that they care more for their customs than for their people… but that they are not aware of it."

He sighed. Such ignorance, and all that was required to cure it was an open mind—an open mind the elite on Shalsteer had yet to embrace. "All this bloodshed over resistance to change; can they truly believe that covered skin is more important than sentient lives?"

"That is the question we must find the answer to, Obi-Wan."

_Obi-Wan. _ He savored the sound of his name from his master's lips, so rarely was it spoken any more. "Padawan" had become his name—a respectable title indeed, but pale by comparison to the three syllables he preferred. _Obi-Wan. _ Briefly indulging his depression, he imagined the vista of years before him, possibly five or six or eight, in which he heard his name spoken only as many times by the man beside him. Perhaps this was what Qui-Gon had meant when he had said that having a small part of what you wanted sometimes cost dearly.

"Sleep now," his master said. "Tomorrow we'll clean up, and go to the spaceport and pay whatever the market demands for a good meal. I can't have you fainting when we breach the palace."

"Master!" he said, affronted. "I wouldn't!"

Qui-Gon chuckled, and the sound irked him even as he noted its precious rarity. "Then perhaps I will faint. The Force enhances us as our needs require, but it doesn't do to rely on it above good sense."

"Yes, Master," he replied, noticing the sullenness that swept through him without quite being willing to do anything about it.

"Come now; energy surrounds us, yes, but our houses are still merely flesh, and four days is long enough to go hungry."

"You sound like Master Yoda."

"Thank you, Padawan."

Obi-Wan frowned; he hadn't intended it as a compliment. He wondered if Qui-Gon knew it, or if in fact their rapport had faded so much that his master saw only those elements necessary to teach: physical dexterity, embracing of the Force, meditative skills, study.

Melancholy assaulted him as he lay back on his cloak; was it so awful, then, to commit your heart to another? His instincts told him no, even in the face of this evidence of what they had lost. _Silly padawan, _ he chastised himself. _You haven't indulged such whims in cycles upon cycles. _

Still, he settled down and curled in on himself to conserve body heat, facing the bulk of the other man and taking some comfort in proximity. Only then did he finally obey his master and put himself to sleep.

* * *

His internal clock set to the rhythms of the planet, he woke with Qui-Gon about an hour before sunrise, rolling in the darkness to waken muscles still sluggish from exertion and hunger. His master rose more quickly, graceful now as always, shaking out and cleaning his cloak, stuffing away the few items they had removed from their pack the night before. Obi-Wan rose shakily to his feet, suppressing a groan, but the sharp head-tilt in the shadows told him that his mood had been noted.

"Are you all right?" Barely a whisper, but he heard it, and it reassured a part of him that had been feeling terribly alone, of late. He heard his master's whisper because it was meant to be heard, only by him, with Force-enhanced intention and the sort of focus they had learned for each other over the years. His master knew him, and knew him well… just as he was reasonably sure he knew his master. Polite distances aside, they were what they needed to be.

After breaking camp, slipping past the rebel sentries and bathing in silence in a nearby stream, they made good time to the spaceport. He watched in silence as Qui-Gon traded the last of their Republic credits for a meal worth a fiftieth of what they were forced to pay. Inflation hit first and hardest at spaceports when domestic conflicts arose—but spaceports were the only reliable source of goods for non-natives. Obi-Wan was just happy that they wouldn't have to steal a meal this time.

The price didn't dampen the taste, and Obi-Wan tucked in to kasha grain and some sort of smoked fowl with gusto. The fruit they ate for dessert was as the sweetest honey, and he found himself sharing smiles as well as the melon-sized thing they passed between them. More than anything it resembled a giant peach. Juice ran down his hand, and he was loathe to lose a single drop; he grinned as he licked his fingers and relished satisfying his hunger, and Qui-Gon handed Obi-Wan the tiny pit to suck on as they began their journey for the palace. It was uncommonly considerate, something he wouldn't have expected, of late; he popped it into his mouth and said nothing.

"I told you that you needed to eat," Qui-Gon said, serene yet somehow smug at the same time.

"I apologize for arguing with you. That was delicious."

"And all we may get before we leave this planet, unless the palace is better stocked than I suspect. Conserve your energy, Padawan."

"Yes, Master."

He remembered the glittering road, the pristine and flowering gardens, the gem of the palace proper… all gone, now, the yellow road surface pock-marked, riveted with ground-car-sized craters. Energy weapons again, he noticed; the exposed earth beneath was glassy from heat scoring, and polished smooth. Where once the gardens had stretched at least two klicks in every direction from the palace lay scorched earth. More conventional weapons had been used here; the smell of burnt wood still rested heavily in the loam. Beyond that, what remained of the palace stuck up at odd angles, its once-bright walls crumpled in many places, a crater marking what he surmised was once the grand ballroom. Shields had been raised at some point, saving a third of the superstructure and, he suspected, the underground command center. A hill of yellow rubble marked the military's defense perimeter.

Qui-Gon pointed toward that hill, and Obi-Wan sighed, centering himself. So they had a klick to traverse unseen over barren soil likely seeded with mines or at least sensors, in the half-light that heralded sunrise. He glanced at his master, pursing his lips to keep from commenting.

Qui-Gon shrugged. "I suppose we could have used the sewers," he said absently, then briefly the man closed his eyes.

Obi-Wan hadn't time for irritation at the moment; he closed his eyes as well, reaching out to connect with the Force which surrounded them, careful as always, now, not to feel too far in his master's direction. When he had measured the distance and become one with the energy which suffused all things, he opened his eyes to find Qui-Gon several steps ahead of him. Calm now, he felt his body shift in response to unseen energies, flowing sometimes water-like, sometimes stiffly, as a desert creature scuttles or rolls over sun-warmed sand. They both encouraged the Force to ease their passing, and shrouded themselves from sensors, alive or no.

Obi-Wan felt the sweat beading along his brow as they reached the shadow of that rubble barrier, and Qui-Gon turned to measure his progress. Nodding in silence, Obi-Wan took the point and moved carefully, as the sentries ahead were nervous and alert. Against his will his lip quirked; it would be ironic indeed to be shot by the people they were ostensibly here to assist. He held his breath as one guard rounded a corner and passed within a foot of him. Behind him, he sensed his master moving several feet to his right and into the open, ready to offer distraction if necessary. But the guard marched on by, joining his friend over a steaming mug of something a few yards behind them. Glancing to his master, he accepted a nod and continued on.

The rocks were harder, even with his senses extended to their limit; he couldn't keep pebbles from shifting, and on occasion a guard's head would pop up, seeking the sound of their passing.

His hair was damp, spiking and sticking irritatingly to his scalp by the time they reached the fortified remains, and a headache was just beginning to start in the pit of his brain. Obi-Wan stepped up to the guard gate, waved a gentle hand. "Enter, please; you've been expecting us," he spoke, softly and clearly.

The guard leapt to her feet, staring with some confusion. Obi-Wan felt the stir in the Force as Qui-Gon enhanced his failed effort, and finally the young woman mumbled, "Enter please, we've been expecting you."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan said, and passed. He let Qui-Gon overtake him, sighing when he saw the unruffled calm of the man; his master may as well have been lounging on a rock, enjoying the sun, for all the exertion he appeared to have made.

_You're not a Knight yet, are you, Padawan? _ The voice with which he spoke to himself sounded strangely like Master Jinn's, now that he listened to it. _You did very well indeed, and without your master's aid until this very moment. _

"You did well, Padawan," Qui-Gon said quietly, startling him.

"I… yes, Master."

"Come along, I believe I've found who we're looking for."

They sidled down a hallway cut wide and high enough for ground vehicles, lined with routing lights and just one floor below ground. Fortunately the hall was empty, as Obi-Wan was already overtaxing his energies. They came silently upon a door, beyond which argued many discordant voices, two of which he recognized. He raised his eyebrows, surprised; one voice was clearly that of Shalar Zai, the Senator's aide, and another that of once-Senator Morae.

"The Senate will never condone such conduct from us, General Tambi!" Zai's tone was angry, though Obi-Wan read resignation in it, as well.

"It is our planet and our culture; we defend it as we please, from outsiders as well as our own upstarts."

"Not so simple, Tambi," Morae said. Obi-Wan sensed clearly that Morae and Zai were on the same side. "The Republic has rules which we accepted when we joined them. To break those rules in domestic conflicts usually results in dismissal from the Republic, and we need their protection against the trade guilds."

"We were a free planet for thousands of years; why can't we be so again?"

"Because our people have learned to want more of what the galaxy has to offer," Morae said tiredly. "_All_ of our people. None are satisfied with the meager lives they once had, compared to the variety of the universe. We became wealthier as a planet when we entered the Republic, and the workers—fairly, I might add—desire a part of that wealth."

"The queen won't have it."

"The queen has no choice!" Shalar Zai snapped. Impatience tightened her voice, made it less beautiful.

"She has every choice! In this the congress has always supported her position!" Mayhem threatened to erupt behind that door, as the general's adjutants and congressional supporters raised volume and emotion to riotous levels. It seemed that Shalar Zai and Jakeo Morae were by far in the minority, and the people in that room represented the bulk of the functioning government on-planet. Some complained of dead relatives, cousins or siblings who had been lost in the first purging of the congress. Zai pointed out that it was that very insulation of class and government against which the people rebelled… again, rightly, Obi-Wan thought.

He glanced toward his master, silently seeking his attention. He had the thought of splitting up, reconnoitering the computer's data banks from a less active node somewhere deeper in the compound whilst Qui-Gon remained here and continued to gather information. But before he could shift a Force-echo or reach out his hand, he sensed footsteps in the distance, running from both directions. He raised his brows, reaching instinctively for his lightsaber. Fight, or… what, dive into that room filled with hundreds of potential enemies and only two known allies? He drew the saber hilt from his belt as his master did the same, and, moving a good ten yards from the door, adopted a combat position trained into him since childhood.

It felt good to have his master at his back, barely a saber-arc away. They were just within each other's circle, so that if he turned quickly he'd have to pull in his reach or slice his teacher in half. Life opened blind eyes in the most interesting of ways; here they were with their lives and futures and duty in each other's hands, and just hours ago he had wondered at all he had lost. _Innocent Padawan, _ he heard his master's indulgent voice again, a memory dredged from years past.

Well, the Force was difficult to interpret at the best of times, just as were these shells of flesh. He set the thoughts aside as the running boots skidded around the corner before—and presumably behind—him, as Qui-Gon whispered, "Defense only, Padawan."

Oh, good. That would make things so much easier. The first blaster bolt ionized the air on its way toward his right eyeball; he deflected it as he heard the sweeping hum of his master's lightsaber behind him and expelled a deep, relaxing breath; they had entered the dance. Lights flickered, bolts fired, sabers moved in a frightening and beautiful duet. Native minds reeled, new holes opened up all along this hallway as deflected energy embedded itself in rock, steel and duraplast. He sensed that one of them had been hit, but spared no attention for who or where; it wasn't life-threatening, and this was all Obi-Wan needed to know in the moment. They continued to move, spin, dodge and whirl almost as one being.

Some uncounted time later (eighty-nine seconds, his brain supplied), the first spoken words were shouted from behind him:

"Surrender your arms!" and Obi-Wan realized consciously that non-targets had entered the wide hallway. He slowed as he sensed his master doing also, but kept his lightsaber activated and ready. Waited, breathing steadily, one with the Force and all that surrounded him, the fragile thread that connected this reality to the others stretched so strong and fine it thrummed.

"Surrender?" Qui-Gon replied mildly. "We sought you out even as this militia came upon us. I believe you were expecting us; I am Qui-Gon Jinn, emissary of the Republic Senate, sent to you by the Jedi Council on Coruscant. Forgive me for not introducing my associate, but I'd hate to distract him until you've called off your people." Qui-Gon's breathing was measured and deep, his voice matching it with smooth, almost friendly tones. And beneath that voice whispered the Force: gentle surprise, non-threat radiating from two men known throughout the Republic as the most staunch and aggressive of peace-keepers… Obi-Wan still had so much to learn.

"We expected you via regular channels, and had an armoured car waiting to greet your shuttle at the spaceport," General Tambi himself snapped. Sneaking a glimpse through expanded peripheral vision, Obi-Wan was surprised. A waspish man, Tambi was slightly shorter than Obi-Wan and several kilos lighter; he seemed emaciated, eaten away from the inside, and the band of flesh that showed above his veil was pinched and drawn. "We certainly did _not_ expect you to skulk around our own defenses, nor did we expect you to break through our lines!"

Definitely not a diplomat, was General Tambi.

"Ahh. My apologies, General, congressional members, Ms. Zai, Ms. Morae… other members of your esteemed military," he added after a brief pause. "We understood that you were drastically depleted in resources, and we had no wish to tax you further." It was almost amusing, listening to that cool, calm voice speaking over the hum of two active lightsabers and a plethora of charged bolt-lasers. Obi-Wan could picture the battle-energy sparking off Qui-Gon Jinn's body, the slight wildness to his hair after so many defensive parries… He returned his attention to his own concerns and weaved his hilt in a grand esse, responding without thought to the glint of a twitching rifle sight.

"Master Jinn, we welcome you." Shalar Zai, attempting to save face and decorum. "Please, general, order your people to put away their weapons. These men are our allies, and our friends."

In a show of good faith and to speed things along, Obi-Wan deactivated his lightsaber, holding it at the ready until his master bade him otherwise. A second later he heard his master's saber power down, as well. "We do come in peace," Qui-Gon said quietly.

The tension wound briefly tighter, the thread of this life stretched so tight and fine, like spider silk against a branch—and then came the general's order, "Put away your weapons, return to your duties." As the guards lowered their weapons he turned toward his master, extending his senses to see behind himself in case further defense was needed, and finally taking a moment to assess his physical condition: one piece, one whole piece, no unaccounted-for openings or tears in the wrapping. So it was his master who was injured. He reached out, seeking the color of pain, found none. Whatever it was, the other man had it well under control.

A brief glance guided him; he bowed shortly to the crowd at the door. "General, representatives Zai and Morae, other esteemed members of government, we thank you for your welcome," he offered, stepping abreast of his master. "I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, apprentice to Master Jinn and associate emissary of the Senate of the Republic. How may I serve?" Another bow as he sent his saber hilt back to his belt.

The general actually answered the rhetorical question. "You may tell me how you came to be in this particular hallway at this particular time," he barked.

"Of course, general." Yet another bow. "We traveled from the spaceport via the Donyan road and entered the gardens through the remains of the Landier-view gates. I was sorry to see the condition of the palace and gardens," he added in mild aside, "my deepest sympathies to you all. We crossed the gardens from the point of the Landier-view gates to that pile of rubble nearest the area where the fountains once were—" he gestured up and behind with his hand, "and found the footpath between that pile and the higher pile with the two orange rocks atop it—"

"Enough," the general snapped when he realized there was no actual information to be had. "Is this the kind of treatment we should expect from the Senate?"

Obi-Wan glanced at his master, transferring focus back to him. Qui-Gon said, "I assure you we are fulfilling the demands of the Senate as best we can." Obi-Wan felt a most un-Jedi-like urge to snicker at that, but held his face and his tongue with ease. "The Council has sent us to observe and then make report of our observations. At this point," Qui-Gon said formally, sliding his hands into the sleeves of his robes even as he shaped the Force around them, "I believe those of us on site should discuss the situation in more detail."

Shalar Zai stepped in front of the general and defused the last obvious tensions. "And we sincerely appreciate your presence today, Master Jinn, Apprentice Kenobi. The situation is dire and I fear it will only get worse without intervention. Please, let me show you both to temporary quarters so you can refresh yourselves after this… ordeal." She scowled toward General Tambi.

Obi-Wan accepted before his master could refuse. "Yes, thank you." He sensed his master's surprise even as he stepped forward and urged her to lead the way, leaving the other Jedi to follow or make a scene.

And so the three of them walked down the hallway, speaking of nothing, Obi-Wan feeling the eyeballs of a dozen suspicious onlookers fairly stroking the back of his head.

"Apprentice Kenobi," Shalar Zai said, "I can hardly believe you're the same boy of four years past; indeed, if I hadn't known to expect you I wouldn't have recognized you at all."

Obi-Wan nodded, trying to remember to smile; he had taken on Qui-Gon's habit of emotional detachment on the job, and had recently been reminded that when he did it, he looked rude. "You, Ms. Zai, look exactly the same." Indeed, he thought she might be wearing the very same veil she'd worn when they first met.

"If only I could say the same for Shalsteer." The sadness crept through her professional tones, and Obi-Wan empathized.

He felt his master's mental nudge, and turned his head. "Master?"

"Nothing, Padawan." Patently untrue, but Obi-Wan held his tongue. "I was merely worrying the problem in my head. Ms. Zai, do the other two branches of your military keep the same counsel as general Tambi?"

"Fortunately, no. But he is in the majority, as…" she paused, glancing between them, "…well, I hope you had opportunity to hear the discord in the command center, before you were set upon." So, she suspected they'd been spying, then. But she waited only briefly for an acknowledgement that would not come. "If you did," she continued discreetly, "you would know that this situation is no different than what has happened on hundreds of worlds. Because of the current conflict, military powers make every effort to seize control. The true ruling bodies have no wish to give up their power, and they cannot separate custom from control. If they could," she said, sighing, "they might understand that they could… keep… most of that control, in exchange for trivial concessions."

Obi-Wan glanced to his master; this was overt confirmation of his suspicions of the night before, and no less than either of them had expected.

"And in your opinion, what is the likelihood of the majority coming to understand this?"

She sighed, shaking her head; her veil rustled, whispering against the fabric of her robes. "I do not know. But, Master Jinn, I've lived off-planet for an accumulation of almost four of your years, and more than half of that time on Coruscant. I do know that if we cannot adapt, the Senate will not help us."

"You are wise, but perhaps too pessimistic at this stage," Qui-Gon said quietly. "The Senate is far from predictable in matters of domestic dispute. If it serves your people and the Republic, they will offer aid."

Obi-Wan listened in silence, his attention split between the surprisingly honest conversation and his scans for sensors or observers. These halls were almost empty, and the lack of people set his mind on edge. "Where is everyone?" he finally asked, when conversation had stilled.

"Guards are barracked in the north, east and west wings," Shalar Zai offered. "What remains of our congress, those who stay here, is housed in this area. This section is reserved for people of import, Padawan Kenobi; it is the best we have to offer under these circumstances."

"Ms. Zai," Obi-Wan suggested quietly, "You honor us, but perhaps it would appease your general to see us housed closer to his own population." He caught Qui-Gon's look, and the gentle reaching of force patterns as his master scanned the surrounding area.

"But we must afford you the honor you deserve—"

"Our highest honor is in service," Obi-Wan provided smoothly. "Please, allow us to quarter near the troops. It is in everyone's best interest."

She paused in the hallway, looking uncertainly between Obi-Wan and his master, very obviously waiting for the elder Jedi to direct her course. Obi-Wan repressed a sigh. _You're not a Knight yet, Padawan._ His master, however, did not counter his recommendation, and seconds later Shalar Zai was speaking into her comm link, requesting new quarters and a military vehicle to retrieve them from this part of the compound.

Their new quarters were spartan indeed, glowlights mounted in strips along two walls, two air cots resting in a bunk bed frame against a wall, a mini-com center designed for short-range traffic only, a small desk. Qui-Gon waved an arm to shield them and spoke almost silently. "What did you sense, Padawan?"

"I'm… not sure. Only that it was better for us to be here."

His master's brows raised slightly. "Only that? Trusting your intuition is of course your highest goal at this point in your training, but be sure you aren't jumping at shadows."

Obi-Wan nodded. "I'm sure, Master." The fact that he didn't know how he was sure bothered him not at all. "Now let me check your injury and we'll reconvene with their war council."

"It's not a problem."

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows, waiting. Injury well-tended _wasn't_ a problem. Injury ignored was stupidity, and Master Jinn had told him that countless times over the years. Sighing, Qui-Gon reached to unbuckle his belts.

"Ouch." It was all Obi-Wan could come up with when his master dropped the trousers and turned to show him the hole. It was a clean, small and perfectly cylindrical empty space where calf muscle and skin should have been, and he couldn't help but wince.

"It cauterized cleanly," the big man said flatly.

Obi-Wan resisted the urge to poke at it—the hole was almost exactly the diameter of his little finger—and reached for his pack to better assess the damage. "How are you walking without a limp?"

"I'm pronating my foot."

Ask a straightforward question, get a straightforward answer. Obi-Wan considered glaring up at the man, but decided that the infuriating calm was probably as good a way as any to address the pain. "I'll fill and seal it." Setting word to deed, he applied a pressure bandage to the exit hole and started pushing sterile knitting putty into the open end to keep it free of infection. "It's my low quadrant defense, isn't it?" he finally asked, chewing on his lip. "I'm still not sensing deflections off my standing surfaces."

"Yes. A good assessment."

Bloody obvious, if you asked him; the entry hole was lower and in the back of the calf, the exit hole slightly higher and nearer the shin. The muscle twitched and tightened as Obi-Wan applied just enough pressure to force out unwanted air; he winced in sympathy and sealed the entry wound. "Thank the force for bolt weapons, eh?" he grinned, looking up. "No mess to explain."

Qui-Gon nodded, and his face softened to a near-smile. It was a poor negotiator who confessed to injury before the conference table was even set; the defending party would never relax enough to trust the ensuing discussions.

"And I suppose I'm going to be drilling with ground source targets for the next half-year?"

"At least. You're lucky they were using hand weapons."

"I think…" he paused, looked up, carefully not seeing as his master pulled the breeches back into place, "I think if the bolts had been larger, they wouldn't have slipped past my guard."

Qui-Gon paused in the adjusting of his utility belt, and stared at him briefly. "You could be right," he said, considering. "You may get off with only three cycles."

Small mercies. His lower half was going to look like the cratered surface of a moon after the practice droids scored him for the next quarter.

Qui-Gon surprised him by pausing at the door to their room. "Purge your guilt tonight, Padawan, before you rest. The Force is unsettled here and we can't afford to be distracted."

Obi-Wan swallowed hard, his mind falling very near that place he had strictly forbidden it to go; his poor defense had gotten his master shot, and the man had knowingly taken that shot rather than defend his rear and risk a similar opening on Obi-Wan in the process. His master attended to his needs in so many selfless ways… he remembered his thoughts of the night before, of what had been lost, and felt very small, indeed.

"Stop it, Padawan." The order brooked no argument. "You're young yet, and total serenity on the job isn't expected of you."

Resisting the urge to frown in sudden misery, he said only, "Yes, Master."

"Good." Then more gently, "I understand your reaction. It's normal. But this is hardly the first time one of us has been injured in the field, and you must set your reaction aside. The matter of higher importance is diplomacy."

Obi-Wan stared up at his teacher's face, meeting his eyes, focusing on that cool gray-blue and nothing more until his mind was at rest, his emotions at momentary peace. Emotions were like well-prepared rations; one could eat of them now or save them for later. He packed his own away and nodded, resolute. "I am ready, Master."

Diplomatic expertise from him turned out to be unnecessary; the general's glares every time he opened his mouth proved that his input was counterproductive, and within fifteen minutes he had leaned back in his chair and relaxed, simply observing.

So many things, these people said without knowing; they displayed so much prejudice and fear. _Fear leads to anger leads to hate leads to destruction…_ and the war-wounded building which lay split open and gutted above the bowels of this level was ample proof of that. He thought again of the hole in his master's calf, wondered what might have happened if he'd been even less adept with his saber this morning. General Tambi would likely have refused Obi-Wan as sole representative of the Council—he still carried his padawan braid, but far more offensive to the general, Obi-Wan still carried his youth. Precious days or weeks would have been sacrificed to narrow tradition and fear. Hundreds of thousands would likely have died during the interim while another emissary was selected and sent. The Shalstii would lose at least a generation of technology, and another generation to rebuilding. Now that their presence and resources were listed in the Republic's open records, the Shalstii would also be subject to raids and predatory buying runs from free traders and criminals. These modest and somewhat xenophobic people would find themselves conscripted as laborers and sex workers to every stronger, more decadent planet in this part of the galaxy.

_An excellent assessment, Padawan, _ his imaginary master's voice commended. _And what of you, when the body called Qui-Gon Jinn ceases, leaving only the soul remaining? _ Obi-Wan felt a gentle ache begin deep in his chest cavity, and breathed carefully around it, nurturing it. He knew he would go on with his life if his master didn't, just as he knew his master would go on if Obi-Wan himself shed his corporeal coil. The thought gave him comfort, for he couldn't imagine being doomed to suffer an entire life thinking only of lost possibilities and a truncated past. _Your perspective is developing quite well, Padawan, _ his inner voice praised. He wondered if perhaps he wasn't becoming vain; that voice had become incredibly complimentary, of late.

The talks dragged on with little progress. General Tambi, after repeating himself at least thirty times over a number of hours (and over the indignation of more moderate, interrupted speakers), called a meal period, to which almost everyone except Master Jinn agreed. Obi-Wan drew a meditative breath and thanked the Force for breakfast; so they wouldn't be partaking of these people's food. He wondered if his master was being paranoid, but he could hardly complain; they were housed in cramped, dim, uncomfortable and very empty military quarters because he'd had a feeling.

Sure enough, they spent their break meditating in that cramped, dim room, his master lying ankles-crossed on the upper bunk, Obi-Wan sprawled on his belly on the lower. While his master doubtless prayed for strength and patience and peaceful resolution, Obi-Wan imagined himself a five course meal complete with kayberry tarts that stained his teeth green for a full hour after consumption. He rose feeling far more refreshed than his teacher looked, and thanked the Force that will and matter were occasionally one in the same.

"Was it good?" Qui-Gon queried, gathering his hair back and digging through their shared pack for a comb.

Surprised, Obi-Wan nodded. "Delicious, Master."

"What did you have?"

"Quile egg soup and crispbread for starters, salad of my favorite root vegetables. Cantor steak, snowball beans, acava jelly for the main course and kayberry tarts for dessert."

"Excellent, Padawan. I thought I smelled kayberry."

"And you, Master? On what did you meditate?" He wasn't sure if he was really curious, or just being polite.

"General Tambi's expanding vision. Peace for this planet and no more loss of life." Obi-Wan smiled; they knew each other well, indeed. "You might try it, when the talks reconvene; now that you've entertained your belly and your palate, you should be able to concentrate deeply enough, and the positive suggestion can't hurt."

"Yes, Master."

Some seven hours later, Obi-Wan decided that progress was actually being made. General Tambi had withdrawn into himself as influential members of Shalsteer's fledgling space forces began to topple toward peace like dominoes. Obi-Wan continued to meditate lightly on his vision of peace, subliminally aware that his master was doing the same, that they shared an identical picture of green fields, heard identical sounds of birds and insects, and breezes that blew through gently waving grasses. It was a scene they had created some years before, a focal point they had built together that, borne of their combined imaginations and Force-influences, was serene in every detail. He and his master knew exactly how many blades of grass wafted in the breeze; the exact temperature of that breeze; the varying colors of carpet flowers that grew wild through this place.

During his regular and pointedly attentive glances around the room, he saw each individual person through the screen of his image, as through a hologram set between him and them. Every place his eyes rested, he wished peace.

Shalar Zai compelled a rest break just after planet-midnight, almost twenty-three standard hours after they'd awakened this morning; Obi-Wan was looking forward to it. He rose with his master, wishing blessings of sleep and offering his thanks for the progress made today, then waited by the door. Qui-Gon was embroiled in careful conversation with General Tambi, and even from here Obi-Wan could feel the peaceful energies his master offered.

Qui-Gon looked up suddenly; _go, _ he mind-whispered. _Exercise and then rest. _ Obi-Wan bowed shortly and took his leave, returning to their quarters, stripping down and flinging himself onto the bed in one long, single, protracted movement. He practiced isometrics in an imagined increase of one gravity, until his skin was slick with sweat and his breathing had picked up somewhat. Not too much, and not for too long; just something to remind his body of its existence and shake the fatigue of sitting all day from his bones. His master would be along soon, and—

Just then the bunker rocked hard enough to shake dust from the ceiling and he found himself on his feet, breath quavering in his lungs: the south wing. He was sure of it. Power blinked off and back on, and Obi-Wan sought his master's presence during those strobing moments. His master had been with General Tambi, who was housed in this wing. There would have been no reason for the man to go to the dignitaries' quarters, unless perhaps he had escorted Senator Morae or Shalar Zai or any one of the conservatives… Obi-Wan couldn't find his master's signature in the roiling waves of energy, couldn't know for certain he was alive— "and so you can't know for certain that he's dead," he spoke aloud to the empty room, trying to calm the panic that swept him. Just a few short hours ago he'd been happy to pat himself on the back for his perspective, and now reality was sent in to test him. Perspective, shash. He'd be sprinting down these foreign hallways naked if he had even an inkling of the direction he should be running in.

Noise in the corridor, booted footsteps running. He dragged on his trousers and tunic, slid his boots onto his feet as he slid his arms through the sleeves of his robe, telling himself he was merely going to make reconnaissance. His hand was on the doorplate when he felt a rush of light, its power reaching inches past his skin: _Qui-Gon. _ Non-directional, somewhere safe and whole, on his way to their barracks room. Calm. Obi-Wan sat down hard on the floor and focused entirely on dissipating his relief.

When the door opened he felt almost composed. His master's eyes moved directly to his, and the irony was strong when Qui-Gon said, "You have excellent taste in sleeping quarters, Padawan." Obi-Wan merely nodded, and picked himself up off the floor.

"We should go, offer our assistance."

Qui-Gon waved a hand. "We're under house arrest, restricted to these quarters until called upon in the morning." His master glanced around, smiled minutely. "Lucky thing we're not claustrophobic, eh?"

"Don't joke," Obi-Wan retorted, not quite snapping. He was on edge, and knew they should do something. "We could move undetected, reconnoiter."

"Obi-Wan…"

His first name, twice on one mission. He couldn't decide how—or whether—to react. "Yes?"

"You're progressing exceptionally well in your training. I suppose I don't tell you that enough."

"You tell me that plenty, Master," he replied, uncomfortable. The tone of voice invited intimacy, and Obi-Wan found he couldn't cope with it just now, not with the ceiling still raining mineral dust and the thunder of an explosion that would have killed either or both of them echoing down the halls. Something was shaking inside him as abruptly, as violently as had the building.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes… no," he admitted, shaking his head, "I'm not." The toss of a coin; he could as easily have moved them into the blast zone, for all he knew; to trust such insubstantial trivialities as insights? Emotions? Intuitions? Were their lives truly regulated by nothing greater than that?

"What is it?"

The shaking built until he could see the tremor in his hands. "I… I…" he looked up, saw the close attention his master paid him, and somehow took comfort in that. "I was thinking, earlier, about the injury to your leg, speculating on what might have happened had it been worse… had it been mortal. I knew Tambi would never accept me as mediator, and that these talks would stall. I knew I would go on. I… I forgot to consider what would happen between your actual death and my continuance. I forgot to consider how much… losing you… would hurt." He swallowed, feeling the tremor begin in his belly and work its way to every extremity. His stomach clenched hard, and he was glad he hadn't eaten all day.

"It's all right, Padawan." Gentle voice, now, and a soothing touch of the Force to settle the violence of his nerves. "I would grieve for you as well, very deeply. In fact," a lighter tone now imbued his master's voice, "I'd have been worried if you _didn't_ feel grief at my loss. Compassion and empathy are tools we must use in every moment."

"Is all of it a lesson, to you?" Distantly he realized he was snarling, that fury and despair had outflanked him and overrun his centre; the fear had spilled over, cresting out of the cup of his body and splashing violently through this room. "Is there nothing more of me than an animal for you to school? Nothing more to this life we choose than diplomacy and Senatorial errands and the needs of others, until we're _dead?_ Where are _our_ needs met? Or are we permitted none at all?" His nerves jangled, white-hot, setting every cell afire with the need to _move, _ to _act._ To do _something_ other than stand here and surrender to events and accept, accept, ever-accept—

His master moved more quickly than thought, and arms surrounded him, dragging him in close. He struggled, the touch a lancing pain. "No! Don't—"

"Quiet!" Qui-Gon growled the order, fighting his wild flaying, refusing to let him escape. Then more gently, against his temple, "Hush, Padawan. Hush. When have I ever put up with your lapses, hmm?"

Obi-Wan struggled harder, felt the wall at his back where his master had pushed them up against it, felt the press of thighs and a broad chest and overwhelming mass, felt the wild surging of mindless animal nature sweeping through him. It was all he could do not to harness the Force, not to slam the man against him with enough violence to send him from this room, from this dimension, from this life altogether— The sound was wounded, a high, thin cry, and it came from his own mouth. Collapsing, grabbing back, he sobbed once, twice, expelling some noxious emotional batter of agony and shame. His hands curled in the fabric of Qui-Gon's robes as his body shook and shuddered.

Some few seconds later he gathered himself, quaking quietly in the safe harbor of his master's embrace.

"That must've felt good," Qui-Gon observed mildly. A hand stroked between his shoulder blades. "We've talked before about deferment; how long have you been ignoring your fears?"

"I— I—" he cast back through the still-roiling waters of his being, found a source. "Last night."

A quiet sigh. "At the rebel encampment? What makes you think it was then?"

He sniffed, and forced his hands to uncurl, let them smooth the crumpled folds of fabric. "I felt—alone, last night, and remorse this morning for having felt alone. Guilt for ignoring the sacrifices you make for me, and fear when you were injured." He hiccoughed and kept casting, kept dragging in more and more: feelings averted, suppressed and unacknowledged. "Frustration with the talks…" he held on tighter, felt his master's arms tighten in reply. "…with these people and their infernal fears—" the tears began to flow freely now, "and then the explosion and I couldn't pick your signature from the mass of emotion that swept through the Force. I didn't know if you were dead or alive. I felt selfish all over again, and as afraid as General Tambi…"

A hand had started stroking his hair the moment he'd begun to speak. It continued to stroke now. "Sometimes, you expect too much of yourself, Padawan. Sometimes… perhaps I expect too much of you as well."

He shook his head vehemently against the confines of hand and chest. "No, I—"

"Be silent." Definitely a command, and he obeyed. "Now, calm yourself." Then, more quietly, in barely more than a whisper, "Your aggressive advancement makes a fool of me; I forget you're still so young. The stresses of your growing body and your youth can be subtle, but eventually they'll break out. Accept that, and use this opportunity to learn a lesson that has been a long time coming."

His body was calming down, nestling for comfort against the familiar rock of his teacher and love. Oh, he had missed this comfort. "I… it started long ago, Master."

The steady stroking of his hair paused briefly. "Yes?"

"I'm not sure, but… I may defer constantly. All the time. For many cycles I've done so. It's the only way I know, to stop…" he trailed off, loath to speak of his feelings while sharing space and warmth.

Apparently he didn't need to, for his master agreed quietly, "Yes."

This time when he tried to pull away, he was allowed to. He pressed against the wall, trying to dig his fingers into the cool stone as he invited his face to compose itself, invited his mind to still. When he turned to face his master, Qui-Gon was sitting at the small desk, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes, watching him thoughtfully.

"You can't put your feelings aside indefinitely; sometimes they must be exercised. In this way their energy can dissipate naturally." Obi-Wan shrugged, sniffing hard. "We have a bit of time…"

His master actually seemed to be waiting for an answer, and while Obi-Wan wanted nothing less than to have his heart poked at by the sterile probe of his teacher, he assumed it was needed or the man wouldn't be suggesting it. "Yes, Master," he replied dully.

Qui-Gon nodded and leaned forward in his chair. "You deny yourself my caring for you because you think I deny you of it. That isn't true, Obi-Wan, and it never has been. Understand yourself better than that."

Silence descended, and lasted a long while. He felt emotion cracking inside him, felt fear roll off in chills and silent tears. _Understand yourself. Do you know yourself, Padawan?_ It was a question he'd been asked by more Jedi masters than he could remember. It was the crux of embracing the living Force. One must know oneself, and honor that self, and always remain true to it regardless of adversity. He glanced furtively at his master and sidled up alongside him, then dropped to his knees. Qui-Gon didn't correct him, but reached with his hand and pulled Obi-Wan's head gently against the outside of his leg.

Obi-Wan breathed in the scent of dust and detergent and the grasses they had slept in the night before, steadying himself, applying his mind to the problem. _Do you know yourself?_ It seemed that every time he decided that he did, it was an invitation to learn how much he didn't. The tears flowed again, and he found himself sniffing against the darkening patches on the fall of his master's robe.

"It's all right, Padawan." The hand continued to cup his head, imparting strength and solidity to his tottering emotions. After a time, Qui-Gon continued in a whisper, "Do you remember the night of the dance of flowers in your sixteenth year?"

He wondered if his master had lost his senses. "Remember it?" he snuffled. "Of course I remember it. I remember everything about it."

Soft laughter stirred the air between them. "Of course you do. And you remember that I encouraged you to seek other intimate friends."

He clutched convulsively at the fabric of his master's robes. "I haven't," he admitted. "I can't. Not yet."

The hand rose to the crown of his head, offering a soothing pressure. "I know. But I'll tell you something now that I did not foresee. I believe your self-imposed isolation has made you an even stronger apprentice. Your empathy has increased far beyond my expectations, for your age and training level. But there is something you must correct for, or you'll fail in other areas."

"Yes?" The touch to his head was becoming distracting.

"You're isolating yourself far more than is healthy. I think it may be why you defer your emotions so strongly, which may contribute to these occasional losses of control." Obi-Wan wanted to point out that near-death experiences had more to do with it, but he kept his mouth shut. "When we return to Coruscant, I want you to actively widen your circle of relationships."

"But…"

"It's an order, Padawan. Make more friends. Business associates. Casual companions. Sparring partners. I don't care what category you place them in, but do it. At least double the number of people you'd speak to, if you passed them in a hallway."

"Uh…" he wasn't sure he could. He knew he didn't want to. "Master, I…" he gulped, concentrated for a moment on completely calming his body, then pulled away and rose to his feet. Qui-Gon continued to sit, tucking his hands back into the sleeves of his robes and observing Obi-Wan silently. The man looked somehow sad, and Obi-Wan wondered at how often he must disappoint him. He scrubbed at his eyes and nose with his knuckles. "I'm sorry, Master."

"For what? Being sentient? For feeling? There's nothing to be sorry for."

"Then why do you look so sad?"

A smile accompanied a softly expelled breath. "Perhaps because you can take so little joy in having saved our lives this night. Or perhaps because I care so much for you that it pains me to see you in pain. Perhaps I'm just feeling a bit self-indulgent. What's good for the padawan is good for the master?" he misquoted.

He watched his master, pondering those simple statements, fanning the words of affection to larger and more vibrant flame, when a thought occurred. Perhaps the love of this master for his padawan was equally as special as the love of this padawan for his master. "I seriously doubt that," he said, sniffling through a watery smile. "It doesn't seem terribly good for the padawan, actually."

Qui-Gon laughed aloud at that, an affectionate sound that had always pleased Obi-Wan. "To bed with you, unless there's something more you'd like to speak of?"

"No, master. I need to think."

"Yes." His master stood to strip off his clothes and Obi-Wan helped, shaking out the robe and tunic and hanging them on the single hook on the wall. Boots went beside the bunk, trousers and tunics on top of the pack. He turned back from this small task to find his master in profile, bent double, palms on the floor beside long, tapered feet, completing a slow exhale. He hadn't permitted their casual nudity to affect him in a long while, but in light of the conversation he wasn't sure what path was more honest, and he stared for a long moment, trying to decide. His master was fit of form and spirit; none could argue with that. He wondered if there was some place for intellectual appreciation, and scowled. If there was, he couldn't find it.

While Obi-Wan fidgeted, his master rebuilt his spine, rolling up slowly and shaking his head at the end. "May I brush your hair for you?" he asked, diffident and desirous and in all ways confused.

"Not tonight, Padawan. Tend to your heart, then get some sleep."

"Yes, Master."

He stripped down and curled onto his bunk, staring up where the motionless bulk of the man he called teacher lay. He stared without thought for at least an hour, letting the raveling threads of his feelings loosen and fall separate. Eventually he sighed; Obi-Wan Kenobi knew himself, at least a little. He knew that love unrequited was better, more sentient, than no love at all, and accepting that fact fully dispersed the lurking depression that had been growing inside him for months. Fanning the well-tended embers of his love, he let its warmth spread through him, until his fingertips tingled and his skin felt tight and aching with desire. An unfortunate adjunct, this sexual desire for his master, but he could not separate the two; perhaps he should stop trying. Perhaps, when this mission was over and they returned to Coruscant, he would curl up alone in his bedchamber and finally, intimately, remember that kiss from the dance of faces. Perhaps he would revel in the memory of that simple touch and revel in the honor Qui-Gon had offered him by giving him the lead in that dance, guessing rightly where it would end. Qui-Gon was so very, very generous with him.

He pondered the future, spreading out in many directions like roots from the trunk of a tree, though he couldn't picture the base-root, the strongest and most likely line. Perhaps he simply refused to see it. But then, perhaps this was merely the winter, a dormant season of their relationship that, like all seasons, would give way to a warm and welcome spring. Perhaps Obi-Wan would be old enough, when that spring approached, to understand the depth of platonic love and embrace it with less regret. Perhaps then the base-root would be clear to him, and be a path on which he already walked.

He must learn greater self-honesty than he had managed thus far.

He sighed again; right now, he must get some sleep. He tethered his rest to his master's, telling himself to wake a few minutes before Qui-Gon, and put himself down for the night.

* * *

The morning on Shalsteer was a bit hectic, as they determined who had been killed and how the explosion had been set. Most of the military personnel had been up all night, and tempers were fraying badly. Among the dead was Shalar Zai, and Obi-Wan permitted himself a moment to grieve for her, and for all of the departed. Senator Morae had avoided the blast, and unless Obi-Wan sensed wrongly, she'd also been induced by drugs to sleep. She sat apart with silent dignity, though he sensed her eyes watering behind her veil.

Over spiced waters and stimulants, Tambi halfheartedly accused Qui-Gon of setting the charge, as it was generally accepted that domestic guerrillas could not have penetrated the palace's defense fields. It was an obvious ploy on Tambi's part to shore up the resistance of several moderates to extra-planetary influences, and it failed.

The perpetrator was actually captured before the sun reached its zenith, and the prisoner presented an incredible boon to the efforts of the Jedi, the Senate and the Shalstii moderates; it was General Tambi's daughter.

Dragged into the conference hall, her face and arms fully exposed, she seethed with quiet anger at her astonished father; apparently he hadn't been aware of the strength of her opposition to his beliefs. Tambi's tune changed dramatically and, as his was the dominant voice for traditionalism, they were able to make great progress with the negotiations. Within four days they had hammered out a peace agreement, built on the thirty-two people his daughter had murdered in war, and Tambi himself grudgingly suggested amnesty for all sides; to do less would have condemned his beloved child to death.

The mission had opened a great many emotional doors for Obi-Wan, and he wasn't sure how, or if, they would now be closed. Glad to leave Shalsteer behind them, for the first time in his life he wasn't looking forward to returning to Coruscant. His master's new assignment felt both unfair and impossible: make more friends.


	4. In the Act

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Obi-wan makes an unexpected discovery..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a M/F sexual situation.

Obi-Wan spent an unprecedented five consecutive cycles on Coruscant, his and his master's work uninterrupted by diplomatic missions or other off-world emergency. Obi-Wan added hand weapons training to his physical proficiencies track, attended various meetings with fully one fifth of the Senate delegates, learned about so many cultures they were beginning to run together in his brain, and did the homework assigned to him, as uncomfortable as it was.

Challi had been a blessing when he'd told her of his task, dragging him along with her to various social and martial events. But tonight she had abandoned him in a stranger's rented quarters with at least thirty people, most of whom he didn't know. He couldn't blame her; her master had called her away an hour ago, and from the sound of it she'd be off-planet for some weeks.

Obi-Wan wasn't sure he was willing to continue following this crowd tonight. There were only three other apprentices present among the civilians, and he'd learned early that he often felt out of place around non-adepts unless he was working. If his friends had stuck to their schedule and taken the shuttle to Nurtasan, he would have gone along and planned for the best; he'd developed a passion for downhill skiing and vee-ball, and could have indulged in both on Coruscant's most popular resort moon. And if he hadn't been ordered to increase his relationships, he'd have gone to Nurtasan alone. Instead, he found himself adorning a wall, fending off offers of legal and quasi-legal drugs, and feeling vaguely nervous. Eventually he offered his thanks to the hosts, and bade his friends well.

And so it was that he returned to his quarters less than three hours after lastmeal, and strode into their shared salon to witness a scene that sent his entire body hot-and-cold with shock. Jedi Knight Lina Shereld was with his master. He knew her personally because Qui-Gon had recommended him to her for hand weapons training. She was more than ten years his senior, ample-bodied and tall, and possessed of a delightfully quick wit. He found her kind and patient and incredibly skilled, and he had enjoyed her immensely… but never had he seen her as his master apparently did.

They sat on the sofa in a full embrace.

Well, "they" wasn't exactly correct; Qui-Gon sat on the sofa, while Knight Shereld sat on Qui-Gon, straddling his open thighs. Obi-Wan wished suddenly for transmutation as their mouths parted and both heads swiveled toward him.

"Padawan," Qui-Gon sighed. He sounded startled, and sad. Obi-Wan could only watch as his master's big hands slid from her hips to the sofa cushions, where they rested in meditative innocence.

He felt his mouth hanging open and snapped it shut so fast he jarred his teeth. "Master. Knight Shereld. My apologies for the interruption." But still he stood there, his muscles numb and unresponsive, his feet fairly rooted into the floor.

For her part, the Jedi knight handled the situation with aplomb; she leaned back on Qui-Gon's thighs, glancing between the two of them to assess the situation, then pushed herself to her feet and brushed her loosened hair back off her shoulders. Standing, she simply crossed her arms and waited quietly for events to play themselves out.

Obi-Wan couldn't stop staring between them, couldn't miss the heightened color at his master's cheeks, the dampness of his mouth. Finally, throwing a rueful smile at Knight Shereld, Qui-Gon slid off the sofa and strode up to him, blocking her from Obi-Wan's view. "Padawan? Are you all right?"

"I…" he felt his jaw working, felt his emotions performing an entire acrobatics act inside his body, but he knew the answer to the question. Unfortunately it took a moment to manage speech. "I'm fine, master. Dazed only. And truly, I'm sorry to have interrupted."

A finger touched his cheek, and abruptly Obi-Wan regained control of his body. He nodded once in gratitude, ducked around his master and offered a short bow to Knight Shereld, who inclined her head in reply. "Knight Shereld, Master Jinn, excuse me. I'm retiring for the evening."

He walked calmly into his room, sealed the door behind him, then nearly fell against it and slid down the wall into a formless amoebic mass on the floor. His mind reeled, even as he cursed himself in several languages. He shouldn't be surprised, shouldn't be shocked. His master was an adult who had freely admitted to a healthy and varied sexual history. _Be grateful, Obi-Wan,_ he chided himself. _He has curbed his habits infinitely for your comfort, and if you'd stuck to your original plan this would simply be his own private business instead of your dramatic revelation._

Right.

_Be an adult, Obi-Wan,_ he told himself. _Be responsible._ Apparently he wasn't listening, for within seconds he had extended his senses to listen in. Just as far as the salon, ostensibly their common area and therefore public. His master and Knight Shereld had, after all, only been kissing. Fully clothed. Challi assured him that her master had walked in on activities far more expressive than that.

"…seemed surprised." Shereld's voice, mild, its raw-silk roughness clear even through the wall.

"Obi-Wan has every confidence that he's in love with me," his master replied quietly, pensively.

"Is he?" Obi-Wan strained to the point of pain but he neither heard nor sensed anything in answer. "And you, Qui?" Knight Shereld asked into the silence. _Qui._ He'd never used such a nickname for his master, rarely used his first name anymore even inside the privacy of his own head.

"I've been taking his feelings into consideration. Curbing my own activities. This is the first time he has seen me with a sexual partner."

Oh, that hurt, that knotted something in his belly and pulled hard on both ends. That his master had shielded him from this, had hidden a part of himself, or denied it altogether…

"Isn't he approaching eighteen?"

"Just past it, actually. And his five-year with me was two months ago." Obi-Wan heard the sigh, imagined the hand reaching up to rub the furrowed brow. "I may have handled this entire situation badly."

"Do you need to speak with him? I can wait here. Or elsewhere, for that matter."

"No. No. This, or something like it, was bound to happen eventually. The Force has dictated my choices, and I can but trust it. I'll speak with him tomorrow. Forgive me, Lina, for my distraction." A smile imbued his master's voice, darkening it and adding heretofore unheeded dimensions. "I won't let it happen again… though I suspect we'll be safer from possible interruption in my sleeping room."

"You don't appreciate a hint of danger, now and then?" The playfulness in her voice surprised Obi-Wan, while the suggestion merely shocked him anew.

"Not this danger," his master replied, chuckling and noticeably unshocked. "If public sex is your pleasure, I'd much rather take you down to West Swinsen and find a reputable club."

Obi-Wan felt the flush begin at his forehead and streak down his entire body, lightning finding its ground and scorching through him, leaving no cell or nerve unheated. Had Master Jinn actually done that, or was he making a joke? Jedi were graceful, strong and agile by training; the idea of such an elegant and beautiful public performance by his master made him fevered with sexual reaction.

"Very funny," she replied. So he had probably been joking, from the tone of her voice… not that it mattered now. The image of his master, naked and aroused, skin glowing with sweat as he managed some balletic contortion with Knight Shereld on a low, dim public stage, had him perilously close to release. He hadn't lost control like this in at least a year. "I'm quite happy with your sleeping room, Qui. After you."

He listened to the muffled movements of bodies, heard the door slide open and closed between the salon and his master's bed chamber, and released a long-held breath. His senses snapped back to normal, and he stared blindly around his darkened room for long moments, telling himself he was recovering.

But he wasn't.

His master had a lover tonight, was right now in or very near a bed with her. Obi-Wan stripped off his clothes, letting them land where they fell, and stared down at his weeping erection. His master had a lover tonight, a woman of slightly more than thirty years, with curves and breasts and a vagina that Master Jinn would likely press his penis into. Would he groan at that contact? Would she? Obi-Wan imagined himself as her, with a body and mind and maturity that aroused his master. How would his master's touches feel to that body? Where would those wide fingers linger?

Obi-Wan bit back a groan of raw hunger and crawled onto his bed, spreading himself out atop the cover. He imagined himself under his master—or over, if Knight Shereld held to form; she was far more aggressive than Qui-Gon. He imagined looking down on that familiar face all flushed with desire, and feeling the twitching of corded muscle that pressed against the insides of his thighs. Imagined a thick shaft penetrating an opening he didn't possess, and groaned again, spurred on by febrile imagination.

Would she appreciate his generosity—for Obi-Wan couldn't even imagine his teacher as a selfish lover—and respond in kind? He wished fervently that the two of them felt even an inkling of the joy he felt when looking upon his master with love. He hoped that she was attentive to his master's desires, and that they shared something of mind as well as body. Curling in on himself, touching and stroking his body with a slow, nurturing care, he wished that they might find great satisfaction in each other.

There'd be no point to their joining, really, otherwise.

His orgasm left him breathless, gasping like a fish and seeing stars as he gently stimulated the head of his penis against his belly. He hadn't fantasized about his master in nearly two years, hadn't actively sought release unless his body absolutely demanded it of him. Doubtless this intensity was due to that. He had never imagined himself as a woman before, either, and he found it intriguing. Of course, the common factor was his master's interest; he could probably imagine himself as a Jimcian tadpole if Jimcian tadpoles aroused Qui-Gon Jinn.

He sprawled out onto his back, rubbing his sticky hand against his stomach to smooth the semen into his skin. He permitted himself to ponder how long they might join, and how many times, resisting the slight twinges of envy that tugged at him. He only wished his master joy; anything less was unbecoming of a padawan learner. Finally, he turned his mind to the meditations of sleep. He had a long day tomorrow, and his master's business was, ultimately, his own. "Be well, Jedi," he breathed to them in silent dimness, curling up alone. "Find joy in each other." And then he slept.

* * *

The next morning Obi-Wan rose early and made breakfast for three, reaching just far enough to determine that two people still occupied his master's room. He was half way through his own meal before his master's door slid open and Knight Shereld exited. Alone. He rose and bowed deeply, extending his hand toward a chair and the third plate in the alcove. While bathing, he had debated how to address her, and finally opted for a deeply formal bow but a more casual verbal greeting. She had, after all, spent the night in his quarters. "Good morning, Lina. I made breakfast, if you'd like?"

"I thank you, Obi-Wan, but my own padawan will doubtless be wondering where I've gotten off to; she's very new to me and still in the dormitories, and the only routine we've managed thus far is breaking fast together each morning I'm at Temple." She stepped into the alcove anyway, and examined the plate of food. "Is that fresh moonfruit juice?" she asked, pointing to a bowl.

"Yes."

"Well…" she glanced from the food to the door, then grinned. "Two minutes won't hurt."

Straddling her chair in a way that reminded Obi-Wan far too strongly of her straddling his master's thighs, she drank down the juice and picked at the other fruit on her plate, and conversation remained comfortably on hand weapons. He had a proficiency test coming up in knife and short-club, and his defense needed some work.

His master surfaced wearing a thin morning robe, nodded with a lazy smile to them both, and went directly into the fresher. Apparently the two of them had already said their good byes this morning. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to smile gratefully at her, and they scheduled three extra hours of private training over the next week.

He had finished his breakfast and the remains of Knight Shereld's when Qui-Gon strode out of the fresher. "That looks delicious, Padawan," he said, eyeing the meal as he settled into his chair.

"Thank you, Master."

"Did you and Knight Shereld discuss your hand-club practice? She mentioned that you were having trouble with a few swings."

"You talked about me?" he asked, surprised. "I'd have thought—"

"Don't."

The response was quelling, the meaning clear. Obi-Wan swallowed his annoyance and said only, "yes, we scheduled three separate hours for her to correct my form, and I thought I'd spend twenty extra minutes each day until the proficiency test, taking the time from lightsaber." He was well advanced in his saber, as it was one weapon he and his master drilled in regardless of where they were. He had needed it enough times already to be grateful for that.

"Excellent."

Obi-Wan wanted to leave it alone; he knew he _should_ leave it alone. But the silence made his skin crawl, and he'd have sworn his master was letting it hang there in case he needed to discuss matters. "Master?" he ventured, watching the man sop up the last bit of tofa from his plate, "You mentioned that we'd talk this morning?"

Qui-Gon sighed and leaned back in his chair. "Tell me what it will take to teach you not to eavesdrop for your own curiosity, Padawan," he remonstrated. "At this point the only idea I have left is beating you every time I catch you at it."

"And that," Obi-Wan finished the thought, "would only make me better at not getting caught." Qui-Gon sighed, and nodded absently, distracted by his thoughts. "You, uh, didn't answer my question."

"How perceptive, Padawan." Dryly. "What did you need to talk about?"

Dry or not, the question was sincere; they would talk now, or not at all. "Do you regularly plan sexual encounters when I'm scheduled to be away?"

"You really do think I'm superhuman."

Obi-Wan grinned. Given the density of his training routine, if his master had a tryst every time Obi-Wan was scheduled to be apart from him, the man would set a record worthy of a sex worker. "No, Padawan. This was a rare occurrence. My habits have become almost as monastic as your own, these last few years."

"Is that what you meant, when you said you may have handled things badly? Should I have become accustomed to seeing you with your partners, and learned by your example? Or something?"

Qui-Gon looked as if the proverbial flame had just set the top of his head on fire. "I never thought of that," he breathed, sounding faintly shocked.

Confused and not a little hopeful, Obi-Wan probed, "Why not?"

"I am the teacher and you the learner, Padawan," his master stated precisely, collecting himself. "Have you other questions?"

"No," he answered slowly, "I don't think so. But Master…" he wasn't sure how to say it, and thought hard before continuing. "I feel regret, that you've been forced to give up something special to you."

Qui-Gon shrugged. "Nothing was forced upon me. The situation is what it is, Padawan, and I place no judgment on it."

Obi-Wan scowled. As teacher-student conversations went, this one numbered among the least enlightening. "Yes, Master."

"I will say you seem less disturbed than I expected," his master ventured.

Obi-Wan shrugged, then answered sincerely. "You deserve whatever pleasure you choose to seek. I was shocked because I didn't expect it. I'll behave better, when it happens again."

He was stared at long and hard, and Obi-Wan opened himself to the examination. It was obvious that his master was suspicious of his answer; the probe was gentle, careful and not so deep as to intrude on any details of his own activities last night, and after a moment Qui-Gon smiled at him, reached out, and squeezed his hand. "I daresay you're growing up, Padawan."

Well. At least something good was coming of all this.


	5. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _On Brisnah, an error in etiquette is made that teaches Obi-Wan more about what love is._

He was surprised at how calm he was, really. Never in the eight years he had been with Qui-Gon had negotiations gone so awry so quickly for something so trivial… _trivial to your own eye, Padawan,_ the Qui-Gon-Jinn-voice in his head corrected. He wondered absently if Qui-Gon's inner voice sounded like Yoda.

This was a culture only ten years introduced to interplanetary travel, their views understandably ethnocentric. And Qui-Gon _had_ misstepped, by their terms, though it was hardly his fault; the Brisnahhi cultural reference materials were paltry at best, and his master's error hadn't been outlined in any of their provided data.

This sort of thing was why they were here, in fact; too many off-worlders attempting trade negotiations, xenobiological study or religious conversion were being killed for minor offenses about which no one knew.

Obi-Wan had spoken with the president of Brisnahhi several times via comm link, and twice personally, and never had he seen the man overtly emotional, until now. He fairly seethed with rage. "You offend our culture and customs, and expect us to respect your own? No, not an insult so great as this. One of you will suffer the punishment."

Obi-Wan blinked in the face of that harshly flung hostility, letting it pass through him, rain through the leaves of a gently yielding tree. "Mr. President, isn't your punishment corporal?" he asked quietly, imparting his opinion of the subject.

"Young fool," the president spat harshly. "The punishment is death, _Jedi._"

He was twenty-one years old. He had heard his job title spoken as an insult before, but rarely with such vehemence. It wasn't truly anger that prompted this outburst, but fear. These people so feared the unknown—and there was unknown in abundance in their new, wider galaxy. He glanced to his master for guidance, wondering if he would be required to make the sacrifice requested.

So very many things a Jedi was willing to die for. So many things were worth more than a shell of flesh.

"A moment, if you please, Mr. President," Qui-Gon murmured, and Obi-Wan felt the Force billowing out, pristine and brilliant, a sheet in the wind of his master's energy. "I require time to determine which of us it will be."

"None is granted," the man hissed.

So very much unreasoning fear; it must be choking this entire culture. Obi-Wan could certainly sense a constriction growing around his own body. So it was to be sacrifice, and just indeed; this culture, so young and yet so strong, could not suffer a hostile universe just yet, not from the names and icons that promised peace and respectful concert with other life. One of them would be offered up. He pursed his lips, compelling his heart to remain steady and slow, and sent a silent thought that the sacrifice would be his. He'd had twenty-one good years, and he frankly couldn't imagine making a larger contribution to the universe with his time than could Master Qui-Gon Jinn.

"Infinity, my Padawan."

He obeyed instantly, without thought, expanding his time sense until the living beings around them turned to torpid sculpture. This wasn't a perception for voice or movement; sound stood still, holding its breath in this plane. Light slowed until every particle left a rainbow tracer in the air, reminding him in its way of the acceleration to hyperspace. He stared into his master's eyes, as still as the natives who had huddled and gathered and now stood seeming frozen around them. This was a time for thought, for feeling, for exceeding rare and intimate connection to the man before him. He sensed the shifting waves of Force, its river flow eddying around and through them both, sensed Qui-Gon's study of that flow out from them each, singly and together, reaching for future possibilities.

Obi-Wan had no gift of foresight, no reliable skill in this area greater than short-term intuition. He had never thought much of his master's skill at this either, but now, staring into the infinity of the man's eyes, their blue filling his universe as the black of space filled a night sky, he knew and accepted that the choice would not be his to make.

Their souls touched briefly, even for this time, and the satisfaction his master held for him, Oh! So very old, and very strong indeed. He could not doubt or question that esteem, so much broader and deeper than his own, a canyon of love measured against his small furrow in the ground. He felt shame at his own limitations, offered it up as gift from student to teacher, felt it lift and change until his own love became more than it had ever been, and far more than his limitations. Until his oneness with his master and the greater life beyond them granted him the serenity needed to accept what would not be changed.

Even as he accepted what was changing in this moment. _So this is what love is?_ Some non-verbal part of himself asked, and Qui-Gon's warmth touched his very soul. It was all the answer he needed, and more. He shared his gratitude, basking in the depth and breadth and pure intensity of his years with this man. Too few? To lose it, for either of them to lose this… he offered up that pain as well, saw that it was loved as yet another part of him, sensed the smile Qui-Gon would have given him in real-time. And he received Qui-Gon's pain, shouldering that burden as gracefully as he could, loving it; growth, loss, change—all were a part of the cycle of life to which they had dedicated themselves….

A quiet moment of eternity together, and then he saw his master's eyelids slowly begin to move, the barest fraction of a blinking motion—and gasped as time returned to its normal flow. Perhaps half a second had passed in common time… perhaps less.

"I surrender," Qui-Gon said quietly.

Force-assisted, Obi-Wan's every sense expanded. He looked up, past the finely-spun cloth of robes, past the vee of fabric where rough, weathered flesh was exposed, up the strong neck and chin, cataloguing every minute detail as if he might have missed one in all his years of quiet study. No, Qui-Gon Jinn was still the same, though his eyes burned perhaps bluer than they had ever before, and love shone within them perhaps more brightly.

"Padawan. Notify the Council of this turn of events, and make your report. Know that if the worst happens here, I have no regrets. None." Obi-Wan wasn't sure how to take that, but saved it for later meditation. Then a brushing wisp of Force touched his cheek, reminding him of how Qui-Gon had done this years-past with two gentle finger-tips. "Know as well that I have loved you and will love you, and that it has been my greatest honor to train you, just as it is my honor to serve your destiny in this act." Qui-Gon bent with those words and placed a kiss of brotherhood on Obi-Wan's lips: hot, dry, sparking with energy yet utterly without passion.

He was surprised to find his vision of Qui-Gon still clear, still unobscured by tears when the big man withdrew. Then his master whispered, barely a breath of air, "If ever you have need of me, my Padawan, call on me; Force willing, I will answer."

And Obi-Wan Kenobi understood, perhaps for the very first time, how depthless and breadthless love really could be. "It has been my greatest honor to be your padawan, my Master," he whispered back, sensing the restless approach of the guards. "Know that I will continue to honor you to my best ability, in word and act, throughout my days."

And Qui-Gon's lips quirked into a secret, amused smile. "Always so serious, Obi-Wan." Then ruefully, "I do hope you'll eventually outgrow that." And with that last, simple instruction, Qui-Gon Jinn turned toward his executioners and walked away.

Obi-Wan waited until his master had been escorted from the room before turning to address the president formally. "Mr. president," he intoned, "I must be returned to my ship immediately. I have reports that must be made."

For the first time, the president looked ruffled. "Eh? But we have negotiations to pursue!"

Obi-Wan frowned, using a look that Qui-Gon often called ‘the most perfect confusion'. "I apologize, Mr. President, but the death of half of the Republican envoy will effectively end all discussion. The Council is outside your planetary laws, as you acknowledged before we engaged in these talks. And yet you have chosen to exact punishment on a foreign diplomat for a domestic crime. Additionally, the person you're executing is my teacher and master of nine years. No," he shook his head soberly, "there can be no more negotiation."

Blustering now, the president half-rose from his chair before regaining his poise. Rising fully, he planted his knuckles on the edge of the table, said quietly, "Jedi Kenobi, there are limits which even you and your kind may not exceed, here. Your master's insult was one of them. Had any emissary from any of the many governments on our planet committed the breach your master did, I assure you he would now suffer the same consequences. There is no undue prejudice in Master Jinn's case."

"This I do understand," Obi-Wan replied gently. "What you have failed to understand, sir, is that we are not of any of the many governments on your planet which you represent. This lesson you must learn before you will ever succeed in integrating your people with the larger galactic community. Now, if you will, see me immediately to my ship."

The president's eyes narrowed, and the fear in the room thickened like treacle. Obi-Wan breathed slowly and evenly, permitting it to fill him and move through him, wasting no energy on struggling against it. "How do we know you will not retaliate?" Muttered whispers from around the room made his spine prickle and tense, and he wondered if perhaps the Council wouldn't lose two emissaries this day.

"We are guardians of peace, Mr. President," he said softly, imbuing his words with the very essence of the Force. "My own teacher just offered up his life for that peace. This will have to be assurance enough." He made one full turn on the ball of a foot, touching every gaze in the room with his own in a silent offering of peace, then, "I have committed no punishable crime against you or your people, sir. Permit me to return to my ship or suffer the consequences of the Council and the Senate of the Interplanetary Republic."

He wondered if Qui-Gon or in fact _any_ Jedi would necessarily condone a padawan threatening the leader of a fledgling interplanetary government in the name of galactic order, and thought not. But as an individual, he could do only as he saw fit, and honor his teacher's memory as best he could. He sighed, his senses alert to every movement, every thought in this chamber, and wondered at how the Council would ever put up with him when he was eventually knighted. Qui-Gon Jinn had been bad enough, after all….

"Jedi Kenobi," the president asked quietly, "are you threatening me?"

"Of course not, sir," he replied smoothly, a bit surprised by the newly discovered strength of his own center. "Your fear speaks more loudly to you than I do. Know simply that a culture such as yours has a great deal to learn before it can coexist peacefully with other species. Now, if you please?" With that he waved a hand toward the door, faintly compelling the man to call him an escort and remove him to his and Qui-Gon's—his, now—ship.

"Return him to his ship," the president finally said, tight-lipped and nervous.

Obi-Wan bowed all round, wondering if perhaps his diplomacy might somehow save Qui-Gon from the death promised him. Such a simple taboo, really. Almost quaint. And yet it would now cost his master corporeal life. He offered up a silent meditation as he strode down the parliament's halls, that Qui-Gon find ease in his passing and consciousness within the living Force. Obi-Wan would call on him in a few weeks, in hopes of finding that personality One, yet somehow still distinct, from the larger universe of Light.

Upon returning to his ship he ordered the captain to disconnect all umbilicals and prepare for possible early lift-off. It seemed unlikely that he would be ordered to continue negotiations, and he wanted to leave as soon as they had recovered Qui-Gon's body. "And… energize the defense fields, captain."

Her eyebrow-less forehead crinkled up and her hands hooked surreptitiously into her utility belt, just in front of the spaces where blasters might have rested on a different sort of mission. "We're at risk of attack? Then, Padawan Kenobi, I'd strongly recommend we slide up into orbit and await the Council's reply from there."

He considered it briefly, observed the readiness in the way the captain shifted balance to the balls of her feet, and remembered he was dealing with a woman only recently retired from active combat duty. "No, no," he murmured, putting her at ease. "I'm merely unsettled by my master's impending death. I don't sense that we're at risk; the shields are merely a political response."

She nodded, relaxing. "Ahh. Of course, Padawan. I'll be on the flight deck, then."

"And I in the communications bay," he informed her with a brief nod, his long, quick steps billowing his robes out behind him.

His report was brief and bland, logged with a junior clerk-recorder who promised it would be brought immediately to someone's attention. Obi-Wan opened himself to the Force and sat back to wait.

He didn't have to wait long; a brief flash needled into his eyeballs, penetrating through to the very core of his brain with a white-hot, searing pain. Only his expectation of it kept him from being completely immobilized. He gripped the chair arms, whimpering through clenched teeth, then… a moment of blackness, and he was himself again.

So that was it? It seemed such a small display, to mark the passing of such a large man. He breathed slowly, centering himself, promising himself a time for grief very soon. Just as soon as his work here was finished.

Less than twenty minutes passed before the comm unit squawked, but it was local traffic, surface-to-ship. Composing himself, he pushed the button, saw a pale president and at least a dozen members of the negotiation party—all of them just as pale. They all appeared to be trying to get as far away from the other person as possible, while still staying in holo range. The other person, standing quiet and proud, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes, was Qui-Gon Jinn. "Mr. President?" he opened, dampening the sudden rush of adrenalin. "Have the circumstances changed?"

"Take him!" the president said, tight-lipped. His fear, no longer masked or bolstered by anger, radiated in palpable waves, in every silent, nervous twitch of his body. "We apologize for any insult and await your decision regarding continuance of negotiations. Please, take him, now."

Obi-Wan flipped a toggle. "Captain, power down the defense fields and lower the boarding ramp." To the president he replied, "Of course, sir. We will contact you after I receive reply from the Council."

The group fairly fled the platform, and Obi-Wan disconnected, running through corridors and skidding to a halt at the top of the ramp. From there he strode sedately down, hands tucked into the sleeves of his robes, ever mindful that his body say what he willed it to. He watched his master striding just as sedately toward the ship, and waited at the foot of the ramp, aware of eyes on them everywhere, bowing low as Master Jinn approached. He could sense the effort it took the man to remain poised, and felt his stomach tighten; the damage must be great, indeed.

"Later, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, voice nearly subvocal. "Let me get aboard."

He nodded, waved his hand, and prepared to catch the man when he fell—which he knew wasn't going to happen until they were out of sight of domestic observers.

Sure enough, two steps down the ship's corridor Qui-Gon stumbled, and Obi-Wan was there to catch him, tightly controlling his relief until he understood the circumstances. Qui-Gon, heavy in his arms, carried them both to the deck as he sobbed once in pain, and then again, his body slackening completely.

"Master," he urged, trying to pull the man up but loathe to loose his own arms where they held that life so tightly and with such gratitude, "you need the infirmary."

"In—" another choking sob, another shudder, "in a moment. J-just… g-g-give me a moment."

"What happened?"

"They—" and now this sob was suffused with laughter, his master's face contorted in that unusually tortured look of combined amusement and pain. "Th-their execu-cution method of th-the day is electrocution," Qui-Gon finally managed.

Suddenly the dam burst inside Obi-Wan and he joined his master in tears, rocking the man gently as relief flooded him. "Electrocution?" he repeated dumbly. He felt the same pain and joy he saw on his master's face, and now the pale faces of all those representatives made sense. "And of course, you survived." A nod. Laughing and crying with the man in his arms, he sputtered, "They think you're a god, don't they?"

"It-it would— it certainly s-s-s-eems so."

Oh, the joy of simple physical pain. He opened himself to it, tried to share in it but could not sense even an inkling of it past the physical expression Qui-Gon displayed. So contained, was Qui-Gon Jinn. So very, very strong. "Your nerves must be fried," he said, still sniffling and snickering in equal measure. The relief was greater than he had expected, and he had no defense against it.

"And this is f-f-f-funny to y-you, P-padawan?" Qui-Gon groused, trying so very hard to amuse him. Or distract him.

It was time to behave like a Jedi. Who knew what these moments might be costing his master? "Your neurons… you seem coherent enough." Not that he was sure he was a very good judge, at the moment; joy filled him to overflowing and he feared he would as happily have welcomed a breathing vegetable. But the stutter was indicative of something, if only he could remember what…

"I b-b-believe my m-mental functions have suffered only m-minimally. I think I blacked out, but I recall nothing beyond p-pr-preparing my body to pass the electricity and t-telling my heart not to stop."

"We're going now," Obi-Wan ordered, resolute. He rose, urging his master's dead weight to rise, and steered them both toward the infirmary.

The order came from the Council only moments after he updated his report from the medical bay; evacuate the planet, return to Coruscant regardless of Master Jinn's condition. Their intent had been clear, which left no room for further negotiation on-planet at this time. It took a concerted effort on Obi-Wan's part to dispel his sudden bitterness; if Brisnahhi's system weren't so rich in dirinium, on-planet negotiations would never have been considered. _Perspective, padawan,_ he counseled himself. _How many lives would that antitoxin save? How many agricultural planets' crops would grow more fervently? How many more life forms would be fed?_

It was all true, but at the moment he couldn't wait to get off this rock. He gave the captain her new orders, and only seconds later felt the repressurization pop in his ears as the hatches sealed. That familiar sensation provided relief of another kind, and he turned to the medical bunk where already his master was trying to rise.

"Must I sedate you?" he warned, readying himself for a fight.

Qui-Gon looked surprised. "You'll do no s-such thing, Padawan."

"Your choices are limited to the method only, Master," he replied, nodding toward the scanner screens. "Your heart didn't listen so well as you imagine; it gave up twice, and it's my guess that continued current acted as a defibrillator and reminded it to beat again. Even now it's confused, and it must be stabilized." He reached the bunk in time to place his hand squarely on his master's sternum and push. Gently. Qui-Gon fell back with an ‘oof' that said more for his condition than words would have. "Your choice of using your breath to disperse the electricity was brilliant," Obi-Wan continued mildly, "and in doing so you crisped a third of your avioli. Your liver is seeping bile into your intestinal cavity, the electrode contact points have burned you down through the muscle tissue, and the stutter tells me you've more damage to your frontal lobes than _I_ know how to treat.

"Now. You may put yourself to sleep; you may permit me to put you to sleep; or you may struggle while I inject you with whatever noxious potion it takes to get you under and keep you there until we reach Coruscant."

"I r-recall filing a report only m-months ago stating th-that you were becoming less headstrong."

Unbidden, Obi-Wan's eyes filled again with tears, and he reached his hand to his master's forehead, stroking gently. The long, soft hair, loaded with static electricity, feathered along his forearm and he brushed it back against the head rest. "You would have me lose you to your belief in your own stubborn immortality, now? When I've only just learned how truly precious you are to me?"

The pained look on his master's face increased with misunderstanding. "Padawan… Obi-Wan, not now. I h-haven't the re-resources—"

"Then sleep, my master," he murmured, uncaring. There would be time for truth later.

Dutifully, or perhaps because he knew just how badly he was damaged— or perhaps because he thought there was a conversation he wanted to avoid— Qui-Gon closed his eyes. Obi-Wan watched the monitors until the brain patterns leveled out, until the heart rhythm slowed to forty beats per minute, and the rasping inhalations of breath barely lifted his master's chest. Only then did he drop a wet mask over the man's face, dialing up the oxygen a bit, adding bacta mist to help coat and soothe the charred lung tissue. Finally, he powered up the idling medical droid. "Watch him," he told it. "Notify me if his heart rate reaches fifty beats per minute, if he shows signs of waking, or if any life threatening condition occurs."

The medical droid examined the monitor, tapped up the bacta-to-oxygen ratio just slightly, and nodded to itself. "Yes, sir," it replied tinnily, deftly inserting a needle into a sluggishly pulsing vein in his master's elbow. "I'll also begin skin reconditioning, and I'm just now adding a mild coagulant to slow the internal bleeding. The rest should wait until we reach a higher grade facility."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, sir. He'll be fine."

The things were programmed to say that unless the subject was actually already dead, Obi-Wan was sure. On the other hand, he realized, taking his leave, he couldn't remember a time when those statements hadn't proved true.

He went to his quarters, stripped off his clothes, and rolled around for uncounted minutes on the thinly matted deck, trying to decide if he was in shock. He didn't _feel_ shocky; his pulse wasn't thready, his respiration was low and regular, and his skin sensitivity seemed normal. But so many things had shifted, in such a little time, it was difficult to imagine that he had coped with the changes so well. _I understand now, Master,_ he wanted to say—and there would be opportunity, now, to say it.

The nature of sacrifice had been artfully displayed to him, and he understood now why Qui-Gon Jinn had taken him as padawan. Even more, he remembered the look of love in his master's eyes before the natives had lead Qui-Gon away. There had been no regrets in those eyes, none at all.

It was the most puzzling and perspective-changing experience, Obi-Wan mused, to know that he had felt no regret either. None for what was past, at least… well, save perhaps that he'd been as obstinate a child as he had been, and a burden to the man who had sacrificed his life for him. Obi-Wan had felt only respect, and honor, and such love as to shake the foundations of his soul. To regret not having lain with the man was to regret the clouds for obscuring the sun and providing life-giving rain. All this, there was now time to tell his master. Obi-Wan sighed, anticipating the satisfaction Qui-Gon would display when that conversation was had. _You're a patient man, Qui-Gon Jinn,_ he thought, _to wait out my childhood so well. _

An hour later when he slipped beneath the thermal sheet on his bunk, it was to slide into deep and dreamless sleep. His mind was clear. His heart was clear. And he knew on a fundamental level that a new stage of his life awaited him.

Obi-Wan left his master in self-imposed sedation for the four-day return trip to Coruscant, and thanked the skies for the diplomatic status that got them past a traffic delay in the hyperspace drop points that surrounded the Coruscant System. There had been talk for a decade on the need to nudge a lifeless planet from its orbit, thereby freeing up more much-needed drop point space, but Obi-Wan doubted much would ever come of it; the cost was far too high and no one wanted to pay it until they were waiting in a taxi line for seven hours.

He woke his master as their transport entered Coruscant's gravity well, restraining him when Qui-Gon tried to sit up. "Preliminary field reports have been filed, Master. It's mid-morning at the Temple, and healers are waiting on the landing pad with a gurney."

"Did you injure y-yourself while I slept?" Qui-Gon asked archly. The effect was severely dampened by the gravelly tone of his voice and the soft crackle of air in his lungs as he breathed.

"Very funny. Don't posture, it's beneath you."

His master's eyes narrowed, but he made no reply. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to smile; his master despised being short on information, but now was simply not the time.

Once they reached the hospital, Qui-Gon was placed in a coma, filled with injector pads and dropped into a tank. The healers politely told him to get out, that his master would not wake even briefly for at least forty hours, and that he probably had far more important things to do than clutter up their rooms and get underfoot.

As it happened, he did. He signed back on to the Temple's computer system, effectively making his return public, and cleared his mail box. He dropped by the Council reception area and left a note with a secretary outlining his availability throughout the afternoon. He returned to his rooms to find his and Qui-Gon's gear delivered, and made three stacks of everything in their packs: stow, repair, send out to be cleaned. After his domestic concerns were in order, he punched up Challi Viswan's room to leave a message, and found her in.

"Obi-Wan! I heard you'd returned, and that your master was injured. I thought you'd be in hospital awhile longer."

How _did_ she stay so well apprised of everyone else's goings-on? "Nothing I can do there but irritate the healers. Challi, I intended to leave a message, as I didn't expect you in. I'd like to talk with you in person."

"Drop by, if you like; I'll be here for," her eyes darted off-center, "at least a quarter hour. Or do you need more time?"

"No," he smiled, rising already; her rooms were six or seven minutes from his. "That will be fine. I'll see you shortly." He commed out and exited his room at a jog.

Challi's door was ajar, and she waited inside at her desk. "Obi-Wan! It's wonderful to see you, my friend!"

"And you."

They embraced briefly before she continued, "I heard about your master. I take it he's recovering well?"

"Yes, I'm sure he is. He's expected to be released from the hospital in two days. And you, your last mission was educational?"

She dimpled, and he felt her beautiful spirit sussurate against him. "Boring, but educational, yes. What did you want to speak with me about?"

It had been several months since they'd actually met in person, various duties keeping one or the other of them off Coruscant. But he found he had no interest in polite euphemisms. "Do you still find me sexually appealing?"

Her brows climbed high and she laughed outright, but the brightness that surrounded her assured him she had taken no offense. "I believe you have become more so each year, Obi-Wan. Is this a relationship problem?" she queried lightly.

"No. I wanted to proposition you. Or, more correctly, I wanted to know if you might still be interested in propositioning me."

"What?" She was startled but not shocked, and clearly curious.

"I believe I have finally learned how you do it, Challi. How you love, and enjoy, and share your body without confusing them all." He reached a finger slowly, clearly telegraphing so she might have opportunity to draw away, and traced the outline of her thin, wide mouth. "It is time for me to discover this part of myself with another." Her eyebrows went up and the little puff of breath that pushed past her lips made his whole arm tingle.

"All these years, Obi-Wan? And you never…?"

"No," he smiled, tilting his head slightly, "I never. Don't you think you would have wormed the information out of me if I had?" He chuckled.

"I like to think that I pry only where I'm welcome," she said, humor shining in her eyes.

He sighed, vaguely sad without quite knowing why. "And no one was welcome, here. That has changed. It would be my honor if you chose to be my first partner."

She dimpled. "Only if you promise not to be so sober throughout! It's supposed to be enjoyable, you know."

"And I expect it to be," he breathed, his body feeling somehow heavier than it should, more dense.

Intrigue and speculation and happy anticipation all crowded onto his friend's face, and he sensed her buoyant other-presence surrounding him. "What are you doing this evening?"

He felt himself flushing, and laughed aloud. With his master unconscious and healing, he wouldn't even need to file a rest allotment. "I'm free."

"Then let us share lastmeal, and whatever might follow."

His heart thudded heavily in his chest. "Thank you. Until then."

He set the matter aside and carried out the minutiae associated with re-integrating with Temple life. Scheduling, mostly, he mused, checking himself in for classes and placing himself back on the physical training roster. There was an intermediate saber drill tomorrow morning with fifth-level padawans that was still open. He offered himself for it with a small smile; it would be good to teach something physical, and toss the teenagers about as he was so regularly tossed about himself. Schedule handled—in theory, at least—he took himself to the gymnasium to find a wrestling partner; he'd been cooped up aboard ship long enough.

The rest of the afternoon, he spent re-acquainting himself with his personal life, breathing in the energy of his rooms, touching various relics of travels past. Then he called on his friends, accepting words of concern or welcome, and re-centered himself in his social life. So many lives, so many circles of relationship and influence, all ever-expanding ripples in the universal waters of the Force.

And in an hour now, a new kind of relationship, a new ripple. He carried out his ablutions with special care, more nervous than he had expected to be about the thought of another person touching his body. Examining it. Measuring it?

How many liaisons had Challi had? Enough, he was sure, to get them through this with a minimum of discomfort. Yet she could contrast him to many, while he hadn't even a baseline for comparison. The experience would be unique for him, at least for a time; intuition told him he wouldn't be posting advertisements for a string of sexual partners anytime soon.

He paused, staring at his naked self in the mirror. Many people had seen him naked at Temple, in showers, in changing rooms, in open recreational pools. Some had looked with sexual interest, others with combatants' assessing eyes.

This was different. He was inviting someone past his personal barriers, not just to look but to drink of him, to touch and share and enjoy. He watched goose bumps break out on his arms and torso, and shook his head. No wonder padawans were encouraged to get this over with nearer puberty; he couldn't imagine having taken it so seriously all those years ago.

He took care dressing, choosing items that were easy to remove: loose drawstring trousers, a pullover singlet, a short white robe with a single-tie belt, and ankle boots. After staring at himself yet again in the mirror and shaking his head at his nerves, he went off to meet Challi in the dining hall.

Other friends passed by while they ate, some nodding in welcome, some even breaking in on their quietude to offer greetings and hearty praise. Apparently Obi-Wan's last round of diplomacy had reached the Temple's gossip mill and was slowly being ground into legend… until the next big hit, of course. Challi had been back on-planet longer, and so he garnered most of the attention. As soon as they finished eating he rose and bowed shortly to her, indicating clearly that he wanted to be anywhere else.

"I apologize," he offered. "I should have offered to buy us dinner somewhere in the city."

"And brave the pedestrian traffic out there? Not tonight, my friend. Crowds have been terrible this season."

Obi-Wan hadn't noticed, but then perception changed with environment, and Challi and her master had spent a great deal of time these last two years on planets with populations nearer the baseline of the exponential curve. "Perhaps… dinner in, then? I didn't even think of that, but my quarters are empty."

She dropped her tray in the recycler and offered him her arm. "Relax, Obi-Wan. I'd like a walk in the garden and some pleasant conversation."

He smiled, containing the laughter that threatened to bubble up. "Let me guess; you're going to pry into my personal life."

"When have I ever _not_ pried into your personal life?"

"Never; it's what makes you so predictable."

The garden was cool and dim, and her expected grilling never quite took place. Eventually she reached to capture his hand, twining her callused fingers with his own. As they took a roughly diagonal path from the dining hall toward the living quarters, she asked only, "You're sure? You're twenty-one, you know. If you've waited this long perhaps there is some higher reason we don't yet comprehend."

He shook his head. "No. Whatever higher purpose there was has already been served. Challi, I thought I was waiting for Qui-Gon. I learned on this last trip that he has been here all along."

She paused to look into his eyes, and he enhanced his vision to meet her gaze squarely in the dimly lit garden. "I'll never understand this, will I?"

"Someday, if you're very fortunate, I expect you will," he smiled, and leaned in to kiss her. There was a split-second of dissonance when his mind compared it to the only other non-formal kiss he had given in his life. He set the image aside and opened his mouth, relaxing as her hand came up to cup his cheek. When she drew away some moments later, he examined himself; his pulse was up, his skin lightly flushed, his nerves just beginning to tingle. And his heart… his heart was open and clear, and focused entirely on his affection for this friend.

He sensed her essence press against him, examining him, and affection poured from him to meet her, that she would be so respectful. He opened himself to her as best he could, watching her smile when she learned that his heart was clear and he knew what he wanted. She grinned suddenly. "I think you're going to enjoy this."

He couldn't help but press against her, titillating his body with the promise of new things to come, and he chuckled quietly. "Yes, I think I am. I hope we both will."

"Oh, yes."

They retired to his rooms, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile when his eyes landed on the sofa.

"What is it?" Challi asked.

"Nothing, really. I walked in on my master and a guest, once. I remember, through the shock, thinking ‘are they going to do it right there on the sofa?'"

"Sofas are actually quite nice," Challi replied.

Obi-Wan glanced from the furniture in question to her sensually preoccupied eyes. "Tonight you are the master, Challi." He stepped against her once more, pleased that they were so close in height, pleased that they could look into each other's unfocused eyes as they shared saliva and breath. Then he drew away slightly. "Teach me."

Obi-Wan wasn't the only one who had dressed for the evening. Challi's fabrics practically fell away, and it was exciting to watch each new piece of her body revealed. It was a body he had seen before, but never in this context, and never with such anticipation. It was a body attached to a spirit he knew and trusted, so that when her hands guided him, he moved without reserve. When her hands stripped him, he stood still and absorbed the intensity of her gaze.

And when she urged him to sit and straddled his thighs, pressing their hot naked flesh together, he learned exactly how very nice a sofa was.

He could not deny a certain intellectual curiosity; separate from his physical responses, his mind observed his instincts, catalogued her reactions, and made polite suggestions recalled from anatomy books and sexual training manuals. When she placed her hands behind her head and offered him time to explore unguided, he traced his fingertips along her curves from collarbone to pelvis, over and over, watching the tiny tremors that raced across her fawn-colored flesh. Her nipples rucked up without direct stimulation, and impulse tightened his stomach, brought him far enough forward to lick at one and listen to her sharp intake of breath.

He smiled up at her as a sense of quiet, anticipatory joy filled him. "Now tell me how you like to be touched." He closed his teeth on her nipple gently and suckled, fighting a smile as she alternated between gasps, wriggles, and broken sentences.

Some distant time later, Obi-Wan's intrusive intellect pointed out the way they curled around and over each other, and decided it was good. Her head on his shoulder, his face in her neck, she kept one knee planted by his right hip as their torsos curled near one another. Her hand between them grasped his erection gently, fingers sliding maddeningly across the wetness at the tip and threatening to undo him completely. The heel of his palm cupped over her mons, two fingers buried deep through a slickness, a heat that was quite beyond his imaginings. Visual training materials left a _very_ great deal unaddressed.

"I think… I think we'd better hurry," he gasped, tugging her hand away before it was too late; he had skated near the edge for many minutes.

"Never hurry the first time with someone, Obi-Wan," she whispered, but her actions belied her words as, carefully, she held him at his base and rose up. "The first time should be extended and enjoyed almost to the point of pain…" her wet heat closed over the tip of him and he gritted his teeth, groaning, "…and then just a bit beyond." As her weight settled he felt his penis making room for itself inside her, felt that slick near-frictionless pressure, and finally gave up on his efforts and thrust, hard. Her joy-filled laughter echoed around him. "Yes, Obi-Wan! Wait… wait."

He had reached that point just before pain. His scrotum was drawn tight against his pelvis, his erection crystal-hard and pampered by her rich and welcoming embrace. He dug his fingers into her hips, holding her still; one movement and it would be the beginning of the end. "I don't— I don't think I _can_ wait."

"Look at me." He did, making every effort to ignore the expanse of pale skin and focus only on her eyes. "Kiss me." He did, making equal effort to ignore the flattening press of her breasts against his chest or the clenching heat of her vagina, and focus only on her mouth. "You'll be surprised at what you can do." And then she began to move her hips, so slowly it was almost a non-event, but the tension built even further until that point of pain was achieved. His muscles were rigid with the effort to remain still, and when her fingers found and pinched hard at his left nipple, he lost his precious control and thrust, again and again, the Light reaching behind his closed eyelids and exploding in his groin, in his chest, in his belly and brain. He felt her muscles contract, was taken even further by her small cries as she followed him into orgasm.

They spent long minutes panting and sweating on each other, Obi-Wan running his fingers convulsively up and down her damp back. That had been both exactly like, and nothing like he had expected. He felt her skin quiver under his fingers, felt the tiny catches in her breaths as her pleasure waned. "You can climax again, right?" he whispered, languid but now very intrigued at the opportunity to focus his entire attention on her.

She chuckled. "Yes."

"I'd like to give you that."

She nodded, and invited him to use his mouth, which he decided might be an acquired taste. The direct stimulation was interesting, as was the slickness of his tongue against her equally slick folds of flesh… though he couldn't say much for the hair in his mouth. His head was delightfully surrounded by the heavy muscles of her thighs and the centered weight of her pelvis. He was inundated and aroused by her dense, musky smell, and he buried his nose against her while he probed his tongue inside. Small mistake; his semen was surprisingly bitter when combined with the sweetness of her fluids. Perhaps he should have done this before they had joined; he could feed on her flavor for hours, he was certain.

But the real disadvantage lay in being unable to meet her eyes. Much as they were friends, his other senses could discern her pleasure easily enough. But the eyes and face said so very much about the inner person. He felt like he was missing something.

Nonetheless, by the time she fell into a second climax his own body had recovered, and he was fully erect again. It was exhilarating, giving pleasure to another. With finger and thumb he pinched a nipple, testing its resiliency, then rolled it gently back and forth and eased her back up toward that plateau. Her mouth dropped open and a tiny, beautiful whimper escaped her. Thrusting gently against her thigh, he whispered, "may I?" and on her avid head shake, he pressed her fully onto her back and slid inside her once more.

They slept together that night, though Obi-Wan was unsurprised to find that they had retreated to their own edges of his bed sometime in the night. The sex was intimate, felt incredibly good… and ultimately didn't change things between them. Good friends they still were, with the boundaries of good friends and the fierce struggles between closeness and privacy. All these things, he decided in the few silent moments before he woke her. Nuzzling her throat and stroking her thighs, smelling the high aroma of aging musk, he whispered things into her ear that were at once sensual and silly. "I think it's time to return to the real world, Challi," he added eventually.

"No." Eyes puffy with sleep, she hunkered under the covers like a child. "I like my dreams just fine."

Obi-Wan laughed and threw himself out of bed. She was a senior padawan, she could join the living when she pleased—or when her schedule demanded. "It's 4:38. Will you need to be awakened for anything?"

"Mmmm," from under the covers.

He crawled atop them, rubbing her shoulder bracingly. "I have a 5:20 meeting with Master Windu. I have to go. Do you need me to set a comm for you?"

"Mmm, no, I'll wake myself. What does your day look like?"

He mentally reviewed his schedule. "Full, actually. Cleaning, teaching, learning, reporting, checking in on Qui-Gon. I could make time for noonmeal today. Shall we dine together?"

Her head finally popped back up from under the cover, and the wide eye that stared at him looked disconcertingly awake. "No. You watch me dine. I want to eat you."

He swallowed hard, letting the impact of the offer slide through him. "I… I think that can be arranged. Here, or your quarters?"

She snuggled further into the bed, and smiled. "Here."

"Leave the door unsealed when you go."

Like any number of burrowing animals on any number of planets, her head slunk right back under the cover. "Yes." Her laughter, muffled, found its way out. "I'll do that."

His report to Master Windu had been brief, his first lessons to the grade five padawan class refreshing, his return to the triumvarin languages class he was attending filled with hearty welcomes from people he knew.

Lunch provided new lessons for him, and he decided that sometime he might try what she was doing himself, if the right partner came along. He left his quarters with a fatuous grin on his face, remembering some old scientific report where viecha mice were given a choice between food and sexual stimulation. As he recalled, they had orgasmed themselves into starvation and eventual death. He smirked, noting that he didn't seem far advanced from those mice, right at the moment.

He spent most of his afternoon studying other new-contact cultures to gain insight into how things might have gone differently on Brisnahh. Circumstances seemed too unique to draw common conclusions, and after hours of immersion, Obi-Wan scrubbed his tired senses and left the library behind.

He commed Challi late that evening, but she was otherwise occupied, so they made plans to go running the next morning and he went to sleep early. His time sense hadn't fully adjusted from universal standard to Coruscant-local, anyway; he could use the extra rest.

The next morning he and Challi ran an advanced course over several miles of manufactured terrain in the training levels. It was good to be with her, though odd to see how tiny movements or actions could remind him of their sexual activities. He understood a little better, now, why it might be difficult for friends to remain friends through the course of long-term affairs.

His hand weapons training, left unpracticed for too long, went atrociously; it was all he could do not to amputate himself with his lancets, and eventually Padawan Endar, Master Shereld's assistant instructor, took him to one side of the room and ran individual drills with him. More practice, more tiny, accidental mutiliations, more individual drills; he wound up spending nearly four hours with the instructors just to assess how much he had lost due to his absences on the last two missions.

Tired, sore, sweat stinging the shallow cuts on his arms and chest, he dragged himself to his quarters late in the afternoon and stumbled into the fresher. Water soothed where sonics tended to irritate open cuts. He stepped out dripping wet, and smoothed a healing salve on all these new openings in his skin. He should drop into a healing trance; an hour or so would take care of all but the two deepest wounds.

When he stepped from the fresher and headed for his room to dress, his master's presence in the salon startled him to stillness. Stretched out on the sofa wearing tan breeches and a thin cotton singlet, Qui-Gon looked…peaceful. Obi-Wan hesitated for a moment, looking down at his naked body. Body modesty was not a taboo of the Temple, nor of Qui-Gon's personally. Therefore it hadn't entered their rooms on Coruscant. But Obi-Wan was now aware that _he_ had always been conscious of his nudity, hoping that his master would become so. That lack had passed from him, and he wondered if it would honor his master to take up a more modest habit now, at this late date, or if he should just forget about it and go about his life as if he'd never—

"Be still, Padawan," his master interrupted his thoughts. "And stop dripping on the floors." Qui-Gon still hadn't moved, though his eyes had slitted barely open.

"I'm dry enough, master." Nonetheless he urged stray water to evaporate from the floors and freshen the air. As for the other, he opted to forget about it; taboos were such an interference with routine, unless diplomacy called for them. Besides, he enjoyed the feel of atmosphere on his skin.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sighed. "All right."

"I expected to hear from the healers before you were released from hospital."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "And I expected to wake to find you hovering like a spectre over my bed. So we were both surprised."

Obi-Wan smiled slightly. "Yes." The silence stretched, though Obi-Wan wasn't sure what, exactly, he was waiting for. Eventually his body felt the urge to move and he followed its lead, striding to the low couch on which his master rested and kneeling on his heels beside it. Qui-Gon's eyes opened more alertly, the look in them mild. Obi-Wan held that gaze for a moment, again waiting for inspiration to move one of them. His master lay very still, watching him quietly. Obi-Wan used the moment to study the man's form, as he had just six days previous. The beard needed trimming. The eyes seemed so blue they defied description. The lines of electricity-induced pain hadn't even left shadows in the weathering skin.

He felt his heart twisting, full to overflowing, sending a whisper of pure energy through him. Eventually the words began to flow. "I never knew your love for me was so big," he whispered. "I never knew a love so large could exist in balance with the rest of life."

"Obi-Wan…"

Obi-Wan shook his head, calling for quiet. "I understand, now, Master. I understand that such love _is_ the rest of life. I understand the importance of truth and the place for carnality. I understand how one has nothing to do with the other." He felt his eyes filling, and blinked quickly to push the sensation away; emotion had moved him to tears more times in the last week than in the preceding four years. "I learned so much from you in those last moments before you were taken away on Brisnahh."

"I wonder, did you learn why I took the path I chose?"

Obi-Wan nodded, flinching when cold water dripped off the tail of his braid and onto his chest. "I believe your decision was rational. Whatever you see of the future, whatever your intuition told you, you balanced all of that with your intellect and your faith in the Force. You could not have set a better example, and I'm sure that no other padawan learner is as blessed as I."

"Every padawan thinks that, at one point or another."

The words were light without being dismissing, and Obi-Wan frowned. "Don't. Please, don't, Qui-Gon. This isn't the time for levity."

"Then tell me, Padawan, what it is time for." Quiet, so peaceful and strong was that voice. Strong enough to lovingly accept every misguided gesture of the last nine years. Strong enough to let this lesson be learned at his own pace.

Obi-Wan sighed, and smiled, and reached to take one large, relaxed hand in his. Examining that hand, sensing the cell movement and the microcosmic cycle of life and death in the piece of flesh he held, sensing as well the unique signature that said to him, ‘this is my master's hand', he said, "It is time to tell you of my lessons.

"I learned that a boundless love cannot be constrained by something so narrow, so transient, as sexual desire. I learned that I restricted myself from experiencing the fullness of your love because I was so preoccupied with one trivial form of expression." The hand tightened on his, and he looked up into eyes that shone with the joy he himself felt. "I learned that for me, the fantasy of fucking has been an incredible distraction from far more important things." He laughed, thoroughly amused at the joke of himself. "I learned that I've been a fool."

"Naïve, perhaps. A fool, no," Qui-Gon replied gently. "Obi-Wan, every being learns this lesson in his, her or its own time. You took your time in learning it, and so you've probably learned it very well indeed."

He involved his other hand, stroking lightly along the back of his master's wrist. "Yes, I believe I have. I have developed an entirely new understanding of love, and I am deeply grateful that you survived so I could put that love for you into everyday practice. Oh—you'll doubtless be pleased to know that I finally engaged in sex with a partner." He smirked, but still he didn't raise his eyes.

He sensed the increased intensity of his master's gaze, though his own eyes were firmly absorbed in the hand he held. When Qui-Gon spoke his voice was thick with emotion. "I have never been more honored by, nor satisfied with, any padawan, and I doubt I ever will."

"Masters say that to every padawan, at one point or another."

The hand was gently removed, and the cushions shifted as Qui-Gon sat up, feet planting themselves on the floor beside Obi-Wan. "This isn't the time for levity, my friend."

Obi-Wan turned the words over in his mind: _my friend._ Certainly they had become that some time in the last few years, and he had never noticed. Youth clouded the mind; that was all there was to it.

Finally looking up and returning the love he saw, he knelt up, took his master's face in his hands, and offered a brother's kiss. Etched with the Force, it communicated a wealth of humanity, impressions and expressions flowing easily between them through the pressure of closed mouths. Qui-Gon seemed to expect that kiss; certainly, it didn't surprise him.

"I'm glad you're back," Obi-Wan said when he drew away, rising to his feet. "I'm glad you're alive and whole and I am so very glad you're my friend."

"I'm glad I'm alive and whole, too," Qui-Gon said, wry. "And I'm humbled, to have the honor of your training." He sensed the consideration in that powerful mind, then felt a warmth brush him, removing the last clinging droplets of water from his skin. It was an old-fashioned, paternal kind of gesture and he smiled as he waited for whatever Qui-Gon was obviously deciding to say. Then, without moving a muscle, his master chuckled and said, "I am very pleased with the man you're finally becoming, my Padawan."

Obi-Wan couldn't help but laugh; this was an intimate, easy moment, comfortable and utterly lacking in certain stresses of recent years, stresses he himself had brought upon them. "And I suppose you despaired of me ever pulling my head from the sand, old man?"

"Smile when you say that, child; I'm not even sixty yet." Qui-Gon leaned back on the couch and closed his eyes with a sigh, spreading his arms along its back and sinking once more into utter physical relaxation.

"I am smiling… old man." He grinned and padded across the salon for his room. He wasn't sure what he had expected from the corpse on the sofa, but a full flying tackle certainly wasn't it. The tussle was brief, exhilarating and funny; he found himself Force-contained, pressed against the wall like a fly to paper, laughing uncontrollably as Qui-Gon settled exactly back into his relaxed pose on the sofa. Obi-Wan began to slide slowly down the wall, and by the time his toes touched the floor he had enough control of himself to stand unassisted.

"I concede," he offered, wiping the tears from his eyes. "You're still a child yourself."

"Thank you. Shall we have dinner together tonight?"

"Uhm…" Qui-Gon's eyes slitted open, watching him curiously. "I have a date. I didn't expect you to be quite so recovered. I could file a rest allotment for tonight, if you wish."

Qui-Gon appeared to consider it. "You've accumulated too much vacation time over the last year… But no, don't worry about filing. Enjoy your evening, Obi-Wan. But plan to take at least a full weekend off, and if we aren't called away from the Temple too soon, get your rest allotment down under ninety hours, if you can."

"Yes, Master."

"Yes, Padawan," Qui-Gon mimicked, matching his intonations perfectly. Obi-Wan grinned. "Have a pleasant evening, Obi-Wan."

"And you, Qui-Gon."


	6. Maturity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Obi-Wan has reached maturity, receives the gift of his training records._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic M/M sexual activity.

Obi-Wan moved like water over the master practice square, the Force a river flowing into him and finding a channel through every limb, around and between every molecule and atom. He sensed that his eyes were wide open, but nothing more than the idea of light or dark reached his mind; he was guided by the Force, without intelligence or doubt, and its sight made simple ocular vision far too limited, by comparison. The drones were excellent, set at their highest levels, but none of the seven were greater than the Force that guided his lunges and parries, his feet as he attacked or gave ground. Simultaneous attacks demanded the most subtle shifting through time as well as space, which some part of him catalogued via Doppler effects. The sounds whispered through him: the inaudible hum of the drones' shielded power packs, the hiss of ionized molecules as they released high-energy bolts, the wind-like ripping of air as his body flowed through it, faster than thought, faster than light, faster than vision.

Words began to enter his world, quiet meditative questions his master posed from where he rested somewhere beyond the edge of the battleground.

"Padawan. What is the fallacy of fearing the dark?"

_Fear is fear, Master. Fear is the dark, _ he answered in focused thought, diving into a shoulder-roll and curving his saber up.

"What else?"

_Nothing else. Fearing the dark is entering the dark. _

"So there is no fear, Padawan?"

He rolled again, whipping through the air, passing his saber to his left hand and ducking under a swinging obstacle. _There is no fear of fear, Master. _

And then, one word, "Enough."

His body quieted, the fast-moving rapids of energy calming, widening and slowing as water does across a river delta. The physical experience of the Force never left him, now. It was as much a sense as his vision or his touch. He embraced it fully, as any advanced padawan must; indeed, this oneness with the Force was a primary goal of the training. Deactivating his lightsaber and clipping it to his belt in one smooth motion, he turned to Qui-Gon even as the drones powered down and returned to their racks along the south line of the practice square.

His vision returned between one blink and the next; Qui-Gon knelt beside the square, his face alert, his eyes curiously bright. "Master?" he prompted.

"Do you ever find your training tiresome or tiring?"

"No, master." He answered, faintly surprised. "Not in some years. In fact, it has become meditation, of a kind."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Yes. That it is. Observing is its own meditation, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan smiled. "Do I detect a note of praise hidden in your tone, oh Great One?"

"I hope you detect the entire symphony, my Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan felt his pulse flutter briefly; he hadn't heard that phrase in over seven years. "Master?"

"Eleven years of commitment, to the Force and the Knighthood. To each other…" Qui-Gon's brows rose, and a hint of a smile played along his full lips. "You are an apprentice in name only."

He shook his head in immediate negation. "I'm not ready—"

"For your trials? No. But in a year, probably two…"

"Yes, Master." Confusion rippled through him, and he sought through the eternal waters of the Force for the small eddies and currents that were his master's soul. Where he had once dammed the waters between them with his own youthful misunderstandings, they now flowed often together, pieces of them feeding and swelling through the other's energy like tributaries mingling near the river they fed. That closeness was as accepted as sunlight on his face or his now-constant awareness of his contact with the Force.

"Yes." The smile broadened. "It's good to be on Coruscant, isn't it, Obi-Wan?"

His pulse skipped once more and abruptly he became conscious of his work-heavy muscles, of the way he could sense his blood moving quickly through every artery and vein. "Yes, Master," was all he could find in reply.

"Starless nights filled with the city's light, reflections off the atmosphere at any time of day. So bright, sometimes," Qui-Gon continued absently.

Obi-Wan glanced up at the blue-white afternoon sky, seeking answers there to as yet unasked questions. He strode to the mat and picked up his tunic, sliding it over his head. He could feel those eyes on him, following the fabric down his torso—and again he felt his pulse thump heavily, oddly, a gong ringing through his body from crown to toes. He turned in time to watch those eyes travel blandly back up him, and meet belatedly with his own. Qui-Gon gestured to the ground beside him, waiting to continue until Obi-Wan donned his robe and sat. "I have watched you for so many years, Padawan. I have trained you, loved you, cared for your education and your needs. The experience has brought both pain and joy."

Obi-Wan nodded intently. "Yes. It's the same for me."

"Yes. I remember, some years ago, watching you struggle first into, and then through your adolescence. Not once do I recall an act of conscious rebellion. Not during that gangly period of adjustment, not during your sexual awakening, and certainly not as you stumbled and slid and eventually grew into your mature body."

Obi-Wan suppressed a smile; obviously the man was losing his mind. That time had been cumbersome and miserable and fraught with mistakes and tension, for both of them. "While I'd disagree with you on the fine points," he grinned, "I thank you."

Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows, and the intelligence churning away behind those eyes was palpable. Obi-Wan held his breath, wondering, speculating on what his teacher was thinking so very hard about. "I know you missed me when I had to draw away," Qui-Gon offered gently.

Oh, those thuddings of his pulse were physically noticeable now; he curbed them with some irritation. "I know I held you away," he answered reasonably. "I know I had to fail, then, so that I might learn to succeed as an adult. I was a child, and you had to permit me to become a man."

"And that, you have." Qui-Gon nodded, his serenity approaching beatitude. "Your records are now released to you." He drew a cube from an inner pocket, extended it on the open palm of his hand. "The access codes are stored here. Take it."

Obi-Wan eyed the cube with barely contained awe. Padawans didn't actually know much about how they were trained, how they were graded, or what made some take longer or shorter times to complete their work and enter their trials. Padawans knew very little indeed about what was even measured, beyond the obvious; one worked toward proficiency in an area so one could advance to another area. Many classes were populated by students of all ages and species.

And lying on that broad flat palm was the answer to those mysteries: Obi-Wan's own training history as recorded and graded by Master Qui-Gon Jinn. As reviewed and assessed by whichever members of the Jedi Council had been compelled to the training seats over the course of his years.

It was an overwhelming moment.

"Take it, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon urged softly. The growing smile belied the sobriety of the moment. "Go and peruse your life through my eyes. Take a few days if you like, then find me if you have any comments or questions." The hand rose slightly, beckoning, and Obi-Wan reached out to snatch the cube as if it might suddenly disintegrate, or as if the window of opportunity was miniscule, and any nanosecond Qui-Gon might change his mind.

"Yes, Master. Thank you, Master."

"And think of something new to call me, Obi-Wan; ‘master' has become a bit tiresome, with you."

Obi-Wan wouldn't even spare attention for confusion at that comment; he grabbed his clothes and sprinted away without a nod or backward glance.

* * *

Some sixty-seven hours later, Obi-Wan reached a place very near the end of Qui-Gon's notes. He had skimmed in many places and skipped others entirely; there was far too much information to cogently digest in a sitting. But the high points… and the low points… and the end point, the place he rested now….

He had spent almost three full days feeling his heart torn and mended, killed and reborn from the ashes of change. He had followed the thread of Qui-Gon's tale of training and brotherhood, and felt the man's love for him grow along controlled, linear, Force-guided lines. When that love had first been acknowledged, it had begun as the dedication of regent to child-prince—and never had Obi-Wan considered himself and Qui-Gon Jinn in such reversed roles of respect. That masters chose their padawans with such care, that they were choosing to dedicate decades of their lives to the upbringing of one individual being… somehow Obi-Wan had never truly understood the enormity of the undertaking.

That dedication had become careful intimacy, guarded and measured and ultimately controlled, as Obi-Wan grew into himself. Through those rocky years the love had lain dormant, pulsing and alive, until the seed of brotherhood had sprouted between them and been allowed to grow. And now, oh! now it was this thing that colored his master's recorded voice in this tiny chamber.

He imagined the pose that accompanied those earnest and sober tones, and seriously considered opening the holographic records that complemented this voice—but he'd be here another three weeks if he did that now. "Repeat the last ninety seconds of audio," he told the computer, and closed his eyes.

"Obi-Wan is apprentice in name only; his next years with me, however few or many, will be for the refinement of his independent decision-making skills and his continued growth into the Living Force. He'll remain my aide until the Council sees fit to set him loose upon the Republic." The pause was long, and it spoke volumes to Obi-Wan's experienced ears.

"I took on a caterpillar, swift and single-minded, hungry for the universe. We built his chrysalis together, he and I, here at the Temple, and I tended the pupa with the very best of me. And now the chrysalis is no more; the child is entirely usurped by the adult. And I find in myself the satisfaction of service well rendered, the joy of his fruition in the Force, and a love for the man that has only deepened with time. I love him without limit or boundary or rule." Another silence, thick this time to Obi-Wan's trained ear. "Such a beautiful man he has become, so fallible and dedicated and perfect, I find that I already miss the constant vision of him in my life."

He stopped the replay manually, and removed the code cube. There was more, but Obi-Wan had no listening for it; he needed a moment to think before running blindly into the future.

He made his way to the Temple's water garden, stripped off his clothes and stepped silently into a tepid pool. Taking a shallow breath, he pushed off the edge and sank to the bottom. Water pressed against him at every point, almost skin temperature, dulling the input to his senses. It reminded him of nothing more than being submerged in the warm, neutral buoyancy of a bacta tank. He inhaled slightly, filling his sinuses with the water to enhance the effect, turning questions over in his mind.

The recording he had listened to twice had been made almost four months past, as they returned from a mission on Clandar. The mission hadn't been spectacular. They had averted a minor civil conflict; Obi-Wan had saved the life of a little girl who had pulled the emergency exit lever in a public air car, and graciously refused both her parents' efforts to thank him both physically and financially, quirking an admonishing brow at his master's near-smirk; the governing body had been unimpressed with their aid and sent them packing. He recalled his master's amusement at that last, and his own resigned acceptance that some things never changed.

Certainly, Obi-Wan had noticed no change in his master, either on that mission or in any of the days that had followed.

And why had he been given access to his records? A typical drill, typical discussions of philosophy… and Qui-Gon appreciating the beauty of the day. Was it no more complicated than that?

The answers were doubtless buried in his training records, but he had found himself unwilling to sift through them further.

Perhaps, he decided, pushing off the bottom of the pool to catch a fresh breath of air, the answers to those questions weren't really important. Perhaps, he decided, sinking slowly back to the curved, pebbled depths, the only truly important question was why he had listened twice to that portion of the record, then left the holochamber. _Silly padawan,_ he thought, grinning. _You know why._ Those words could be heard as an invitation, a years-long-awaited ‘yes' to a question he had never directly asked, but that had lain silent between them.

He rolled in the water, feeling its warm eddies caress his limbs, contemplating Qui-Gon's changed status. He hadn't thought of Qui-Gon sexually in at least a year. It simply hadn't come up. And now… he grinned, laughing at himself. It had definitely come up.

Pushing off the bottom once more, ordering his body to calm itself immediately or face the consequences, he pulled himself out of the pool, dried, and dressed.

He needed to see Qui-Gon. Now.

There was a great deal to talk about.

He opened his mind and looked through his master's eyes, had the mildly dizzying sensation of artificial light and a cacophony of speed and movement… the flash of sabers and the sparkle of joy-filled eyes… seventh floor, east wing, section nine, quad four, free-drill hall. He increased his pace to a jog, and then to a slow run, eating up the distance, taking stairs and bridges until the mile slid by. His energy was up when he bowed himself into the hall; flashes of light everywhere drew his eyes, made his hand twitch toward his own hilt that swung gently against his hip. All thirty-six squares were full, some with multiple sparring partners, all using lightsabers. The meters-wide lanes that separated the squares were sparsely populated with observers, or challengers awaiting a turn against whoever defended the square.

Qui-Gon was in the thick of things, having advanced himself to one of the four center squares. Obi-Wan smiled as he approached, watching his master play a game with a padawan team not much short of Obi-Wan's years. He recognized all three, a trio who fought together, played together, slept together and, whenever envoys of more than a pair were needed, were typically posted together. It was their masters' early teamwork that had bound the three, and Obi-Wan suspected they would remain so for many years to come; the two women were joined at the hip, and their male partner tended to walk around with an incredibly fatuous smile on his face. What a perfect love. Obi-Wan recognized it well.

His gaze turned to Qui-Gon. Very well, indeed.

Parry, throw, jump, swarm, gang up—and no one person could gang up on three others quite like Qui-Gon Jinn—it was a free-for-all, sabers set to low enough power that sufficiently violent contact forced one blade through another. Obi-Wan grinned at the scorch marks on various padawans' clothes; it looked like they'd been going at it for hours, and Qui-Gon wasn't in much better shape.

How many had he fought today, to reach and hold the fourth square? The intensity with which he played, the fierce joy on his face, the _life_ that flowed from him and through him and around his sparring partners, the ferocious grins on competitors' faces, the entire scene was quintessentially Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan had rarely seen padawans so enjoy getting beaten up.

He sidled up between two other observers, looking his fill, watching the speed and grace and raw, happy aggression. The horsetail of his master's hair whipped about, a lash that seemed yet another weapon for anyone who encroached too close from the rear. He caught the fever of the game, silently cheering Qui-Gon on, barely restraining his laughter at the spectacle. Anticipation seeped along his nerves and he narrowed his eyes, searching for the vulnerability his master must sense. Grinned as the three padawans formed an almost straight line along one edge of the square. Qui-Gon loosed an animal roar and launched himself, corkscrewing in the air to avoid the rising saber blades, sweeping with his own blade to knock one astray, and bowling into them lengthwise like a log rolling down a hill.

"Enough!" Obi-Wan called out, laughing and stepping into the square to break the sensor's beam; a chime sounded, specific to square number four, halting the match. The melee on the mat separated itself into four independent beings.

"Yes, Obi-Wan?" Laughter colored Qui-Gon's voice with dark, sweet honey, yet he somehow managed to look dignified as he slung his saber hilt and tugged his burned and torn practice gear into order.

"Qui-Gon, attend me please. Unless you're too entrenched in your sport?"

Qui-Gon's brows rose, and he turned to the three padawans who were still laughing and righting themselves. "I concede, you ruffians," Qui-Gon bellowed, bowing in their direction. "Well-played indeed."

"Yes, Master Jinn," they chorused, pleased to have won the square by any means.

Qui-Gon stepped out of the ring and into the players' circle at its corner, and Obi-Wan joined him. _Leonine,_ Obi-Wan thought, observing him with a lover's eyes; _the man is truly leonine. And he is also truly a man… just a man, like me, like others. Made unique by his commitment and his will, made so precious to me by his invocation of the Light._ So that answered the question, ‘why now'. He had seen Qui-Gon as a man—and not a hero, in spite of all his heroic acts—for some time. Perhaps Qui-Gon had been simply waiting to be sure of this fact. Waiting, to be sure that Obi-Wan understood himself and Qui-Gon. Waiting, to affirm that maturity held, and that hero-worship had been truly cast aside.

As it had.

He watched, wondering at his perspective as Qui-Gon picked up a towel and scrubbed at his face. When his master loosened the cord in his hair and shook the mass out around his shoulders, however, Obi-Wan found his perspective as transient and insubstantial as a summer breeze, for he also was just a man, with desires and passions that were now permitted to surface and be fulfilled.

He took the single step needed to invade Qui-Gon's space, reaching up with one hand as he asserted, "You'll forgive me if I'm out of line." Then he dragged Qui-Gon's head down and sealed their mouths together.

Qui-Gon had opened his mouth, doubtless to ask what he was talking about, and Obi-Wan felt no compunction about pushing his tongue inside, tasting and searching and inviting the fierce aggression he had just witnessed to express itself here in his arms. There was a second where Obi-Wan sensed the heat of battle transmute into a stiffening, defensive energy. He wondered if he was in physical danger, but only for a moment, before the sensation shifted again into a reaction that suited Obi-Wan far better; his spine popped under the pressure of Qui-Gon's arms around his ribs, and he felt himself lifted completely off the floor.

So much for not running blindly into his future.

He slid his arms around his master's neck for leverage, and was just lifting his knees to anchor his ankles around the backs of Qui-Gon's thighs when the bite of fingers, harsh and deep into his biceps, halted him. Brute strength tugged him backward and he barely got his legs back under himself in time to stand. He gasped in a lung full of air, aching at the loss of contact, as Qui-Gon held him back an arm's length. Qui-Gon looked… surprised, and it took Obi-Wan a moment to understand: Qui-Gon was surprised at _himself,_ surprised at the immediacy of his response.

Obi-Wan laughed, shaking his head to clear it of the buzzing that surged through it, wrenched his arms free and moved in again.

The thunder that replaced the surprise was a sight to behold. Qui-Gon's voice rose in a familiar if rare bellow that belonged distinctly to dissatisfied Jedi Masters. "Obi-Wan!"

He raised his brows, bemused, feeling his pulse thrumming gently, the Force humming alongside it through every cell of his body and through all of the space around them. It pushed him toward his master just as currents in a river push a piece of driftwood along. "Yes, Qui-Gon?"

His master cast a furtive, wild glance around them, and Obi-Wan spared a look himself. The padawan trio exchanged speaking glances, but Obi-Wan suspected they were at least as interested in getting Qui-Gon out of the players' circle so their sparring could continue as they were curious about the kiss. Other observers had given Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon their full attention, but Obi-Wan didn't spare energy to determine their opinions. He didn't _care_ about their opinions. He turned back to his master, waiting patiently for enlightenment.

"Obi-Wan, this is hardly the time or the place…"

Pushing his way inside Qui-Gon's defense until their bodies were separated only by a hand's breadth, he tilted his chin up and fell into the deep blue well of his master's eyes. "It is exactly the time and the place."

The demanding blue gaze flickered, diverted to a second of doubt, and Obi-Wan trusted his feelings completely. "It is exactly the time and the place, love," he said again, and this time when he reached and sank his fingers into his master's heavy fall of hair, he felt the surrender, sensed the heat and the fire he had sought in his first attempt.

Hands cupped his skull, gripping tightly as they pressed toward one another without moving at all; the hand's breadth that separated them was merely physical. The world fell away as Obi-Wan took in the high flush on cheeks and throat that might still be from exertion or might be from something else entirely; the rasping breath that had nothing at all to do with exercise; the pupils dilated so wide that Qui-Gon's eyes were as an eclipse before a blue, blue sun.

The universe seemed to be holding its breath, and perhaps it was. Obi-Wan felt the air press from his lungs in an eternal, silent exhale. With his heart he followed that breath across the space that separated them, reaching and embracing those most intimate parts of Qui-Gon Jinn, parts he never been permitted to fully see.

Until three days ago he had been the younger, the student, the person with no right to choose… because, perhaps, for so many years he had been utterly ignorant of how much time his choices could cost him.

"You knew," he breathed, hearing his voice catch, feeling the tight clamp at his throat and blinking fast to clear his eyes of tears.

And Qui-Gon, beautiful Qui-Gon, smiled gently, and drew in the same slow breath Obi-Wan had just offered up. "It was my job to know. To know your heart, to know your mind. It was my job to let you grow into yourself without the presence of any overwhelming influence."

"Overwhelming." He felt the word as it rolled through the cavern of his mouth and off his tongue, measuring it against the man he held so dear. "You certainly would have been that. You may yet be."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "I think you still overestimate me." Obi-Wan's eyes strayed to his master's mouth, measuring the smile, the softness of lips, wanting urgently to test that softness once more. "I daresay you've already destroyed our first kiss, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured, understanding him effortlessly while Obi-Wan simply watched that soft mouth move. "There's no hurry, now."

"No," Obi-Wan denied. "Almost nine years ago, Qui-Gon, on a dance floor far more public than this, the first kiss was generous and born entirely of the love you hold for me."

Thumbs brushed his jaw, his mouth, and he opened his lips against that feather touch. "You have always been a romantic, my Obi-Wan."

"And you have always let your wine breathe until it has oxidized entirely; stop waiting, Qui-Gon. I'm right here."

The hands tightened infinitesimally on his skull. "I have always known exactly how close you were. That knowledge was a great trial, at times."

There it was, that skip-thump that could not be mis-identified, sounding deep in his chest. "No longer." Impulse drove him forward, and he pressed his lips to Qui-Gon's mouth briefly, barely a touch at all. The breath that slid over his lips, hot and moist after being held in his master's chest, brought a tremble to Obi-Wan's entire body. "I want you," he whispered. "I love you. I'll go so far as to say I need you if you like, so don't deny me now." And with that order he pressed home again, opening his mouth, feeling the soft brush of beard as their mouths moved together.

For long moments all he could hear was the rushing of their breaths. All he could taste was Qui-Gon-flavored saliva. All he could feel was the pressure of their two shells, these two bodies that housed the hearts and minds that moved ever-closer.

A small cough finally nagged at his attention, and he realized it was being repeated, had been for some time. He drew his head away with an effort and turned to frown at the interruption. Padawan Hasse, the eldest of the trio, looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Master, Padawan… may we play on?"

"Do whatever you like, padawans," Obi-Wan answered, fully intending to go back to what he'd been doing. But Qui-Gon's face was crinkling with amusement when he turned back.

"Obi-Wan. We can at least move off the playing area, can't we?" Amused. Reasonable. And how dare the man be reasonable in a moment like this?

Obi-Wan glanced from his boots to the edge of the players' circle, a half-meter away, measuring the distance against the passionate craving he'd allowed his body. "I don't know."

A rumble of laughter, heady and drunken and music to his ears, and Qui-Gon lifted him bodily, taking the necessary steps to clear the players' circle. "Play on," Qui-Gon called, putting physical distance between them again. Obi-Wan swayed, stunned and dizzy and oddly surprised by the meter that now separated them.

"We should talk," Qui-Gon said eventually.

"We should fuck," Obi-Wan returned without hesitation.

Qui-Gon's eyes darkened to blue fire, but he answered mildly. "So eager, still? And here I thought you had grown beyond childish longings."

"Oh, I did," he assured. "Love without boundary or limit, Qui-Gon. It's the love I learned to have for you. But if you thought my love would somehow grow to exclude this intimacy between us, well, senility has settled in early for you." He paused, staring for a long moment, some part of him vaguely amused at this quiet, calm conversation. "You truly thought I might have passed you by?"

Qui-Gon shrugged. "The heart is rarely fickle, but the body certainly can be. It happens often."

"Not to me, it doesn't." He reached out briefly, stroked down his master's upper arm. "I want you still."

Qui-Gon drew in a shallow, steadying breath. "Perhaps we should finally finish what you tried to start all those years ago, then," he conceded. "But most definitely not here."

Obi-Wan glanced around; most of the players were still deeply engrossed in their training routines, but here and there a knight or student had paused in their work and openly stared. Curiosity warred with disapproval on those faces, and he still wasn't sure that he cared.

Qui-Gon answered his look quietly. "We're being rude."

"We really should go back to our rooms," Obi-Wan agreed. His lips felt hot and puffy and hypersensitive.

He wanted them to feel raw.

He wanted his entire body to feel raw from the friction of flesh against flesh. He was, in fact, surprised at the intensity of his desire.

"Yes. We should." Qui-Gon's blue eyes were bright with feeling, so overwhelming and strong that Obi-Wan couldn't keep from reaching out his hand.

It was taken up in the strength of his master's, and Obi-Wan stared, distracted, at their entwined flesh. Their calluses were more equal in number, now, his own palm narrower than Qui-Gon's capable square one. In a flash of memory he saw his child-hand grasped by this Master's, saw his child-self supported through all the years between that moment and this one.

He looked up as the first tears spilled from Qui-Gon's eyes, and his heart expanded, filling his chest cavity, suffusing him with such emotion, such love, he had no words. There _were_ no words.

This must be what Qui-Gon had meant, all those years ago, when he said that the nurturer always saw the caterpillar in the butterfly; Obi-Wan still saw that caterpillar in himself, a ghost, an echo that colored and shaped the man he was today. He looked closely, deeply through the rising tears in his eyes, for the caterpillar that had once been Qui-Gon Jinn; oh, the incredible racket that boy must have made, shaking the quiet and somber Jedi Temple to its foundations! He could see it, blurry and out-of-focus through his tears and the span of time; intelligent eyes and small dark hands and laughter that would spill out at any moment, bubbling emotion that Master Yoda simply could not train out of the boy. No wonder the little green monster was so cross all the time… being bested by a child…

Between one blink and the next the image was gone, only its ghost left in the creased, mature shadows of Qui-Gon's face. Obi-Wan thought his heart would leap from his chest, the emotion affected him so deeply, and he was reaching with a strangled cry before thought, wrapping his arms around Qui-Gon again and holding him tightly while emotion buffeted through him, through them both.

What an interesting ride they were on, careening wildly between near-mindless physical passion and this sexless, satiating embrace.

Eventually it became necessary to let the feeling complete its course, to wash through them rather than be held or caged. He eased the pressure of his arms only slightly, cleared his throat. His master laughed and stepped back, settling himself serenely as they each moved, putting space between them.

"You love me," Obi-Wan said, stating the obvious and sensing the feeling that embraced him, no different from three days before, or three years. "You always have."

Qui-Gon merely nodded, eyes serene.

Obi-Wan ducked his head to Qui-Gon's chest, listening to his heart beat as more pieces in life's puzzle snapped into place. "And now you can want me," he said quietly against Qui-Gon's robe.

Fingers touched his hair, and the quiet rumble of words that followed were promise and benediction; "Such a beautiful man you are, and such a precious gift to me." A soft sigh lifted Qui-Gon's chest against his cheek. "And yes. Now. I can express that love in any way we choose."

Obi-Wan drew away, still hearing his master's heartbeat. "I suspect you have many things to teach me about sex."

"I doubt it."

"I don't."

"Ahh."

_Ahh?_ What did _ahh_ mean? He knew what he was saying. Sexual desire could be many things. It was simply one expression of many… yet coupled as theirs would be with this abiding love, it would be profound. And exhilarating. And—

"May we perform at a public sex club sometime?"

"What?" Not quite aghast.

"I remember you offered to take Knight Shereld to a public sex club. I'd like to do that with you. Mate, love, fuck madly on some dimly lit stage, with people who admire passion all around us."

"Do you mind if we try it alone first?" Dryly, but hardly dismissive.

"No. Not at all. Get your things."

Qui-Gon lifted an eyebrow at the obvious order, but did as he was bid. They walked in near-silence through long hallways; there seemed not enough space between them for words or thought to travel. Qui-Gon was still exhilarated from his play. Obi-Wan was still exhilarated by his knowledge.

As soon as he opened the door to their rooms, however, he noticed both their message lights flashing yellow. "Coincidence?" he prayed, moving to his desk even as he willed those Council messages not to be urgent.

A moment later. "Mace Windu wants to see me. Now," Qui-Gon groused. "Imagine that."

"And me." Obi-Wan sighed. "If this is about the kissing in the exercise hall, that man learns of things almost as fast as Padawan Viswan."

"He is well connected." Qui-Gon sighed.

Obi-Wan blanched at what would likely be a dressing-down. While public displays of affection between padawan and master were as common to the Temple as public displays of disapproval or correction, he supposed theirs wasn't exactly typical… in fact, he couldn't recall such an event in his eleven years here, nor of hearing about one. "Is this forbidden?" he thought to ask. That the thought had never occurred to him before was proof, to him, of his commitment, of the rightness of his path.

"I couldn't care less," Qui-Gon replied with feeling.

"Well that's a surprise," Obi-Wan replied with an ironic smile. He glanced from his desk to his master. "We should come together," he said urgently. "Now."

"Now?" Qui-Gon queried. "Before answering a direct and immediate summons from a waiting Council member?"

Obi-Wan started stripping off his clothes. "If he is trying to deter us, we'll be stronger for having already consummated this thing between us." He grinned. "He can hardly order us not to do something we've already done."

"He could order us to stop," Qui-Gon pointed out reasonably.

"Better to stop, than never to begin," he replied, determined.

"And if he isn't trying to deter us?" Qui-Gon continued. He seemed to be getting far too much amusement out of their situation.

Obi-Wan promised himself to make the man pay, in future. Somehow. "The priority was yellow, Master; five or ten minutes will hardly hurt."

Qui-Gon rolled his eyes, but the speculation in them was sweet. "Your logic may have some merit," he conceded, "but I don't think a hurried, groping struggle is what I would have imagined our first joining to be."

Obi-Wan paused. "You mean you never imagined it?"

"No." Softly.

"Why?!"

"I told you that I wouldn't."

He was shocked anew, and more moved than he cared to reveal in this moment; hours-long, silent declarations of devotion hardly seemed compatible with the speed record for mutual orgasm he was aiming for. "Years ago." His hands tucked into his trousers, he hesitated before pushing them down. "That's the kind of control I'm expected to learn if ever I'm to advance to your level? And I thought attaining my knighthood would be difficult."

Qui-Gon laughed, and raised his eyebrows at Obi-Wan's half-naked stillness. "Are you serious about this? You want to begin this way? Before we report?"

"Oh yes," Obi-Wan urged. "Definitely." With that mild suggestion, he pushed his trousers down and bent to unbuckle his boots. Qui-Gon seemed so collected, Obi-Wan actually felt the slight pull of self-consciousness as he worked to shed the last of his clothes. But whatever this might look like on the outside, his decision was no ill-considered leap. He knew where he was going, and he trusted Qui-Gon to know himself. "People keep telling me that first times with a new partner should be slow and filled with care. Why is that?"

"Respect, I suppose." And just on the edge of sound, Obi-Wan heard the rustle of fabric and drew in a sharp, controlled breath. He dared not look up, couldn't look up, sure that the sight that awaited him would rip his reason away entirely. "Conscientious attention to your partner's wants and desires. A learning process." Qui-Gon's voice was lecturing in tone, and Obi-Wan found this fact unreasonably funny given that he knew the man was undressing.

"Well," he said with a smile, stepping out of his boots and trousers, "I think there must be something for an all-out charge into the experience, a hurried, fumbling, frantic encounter."

And there was.

Obi-Wan had been right; when he finally looked up to see Qui-Gon standing there, still amused but naked and very ready, his mouth dried, his throat seized, and his erection sprang to such stiff attention he feared he was doing himself some injury. That he could look, and see with these eyes, and see those eyes looking back just the same way— "I want…" he managed, feeling his hands clench and unclench, feeling his jaw working even as his brain supplied no words beyond, "I want, I want…"

"I know," Qui-Gon said, closing in on him. "You want everything. I'll do my best for you, Obi-Wan. For us both."

Before he could think, Qui-Gon grabbed him up, crushing his mouth in a kiss so fervent their teeth clashed and kept clashing. He was backed into the wall and held there by the simple weight of Qui-Gon's body as hands combed through his hair, stroked roughly down his neck and shoulders, in under his armpits to knead his pectoral muscles. It was like being taken over by a storm.

Qui-Gon's erection nudged at his belly, branding him with its heat and shape. _Everything,_ he thought.

Sex was different when you loved. It was the difference between dried travel rations and a banquet; between water and sand; between death and life. It was a difference that made this frantic groping more important than any tender, drawn-out event, real or imagined. Qui-Gon pressed against him, _here,_ spiraling down into the sensation of the moment with him, sharing passion and far more.

_Everything._

He tucked his chin, breaking the kiss, gripping hard into the hot muscle and sinew of Qui-Gon's back. "I want…"

Hands stroked down his sides, wedging themselves between his ass and the wall, fingers sinking deep into his flesh. "Lift your legs, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon ground out harshly.

_Everything._

He pulled himself up, free climbing, finding handholds at shoulders, in hair, wrapping his legs around the outcropping of hip and waist. And when their different heights were finally accounted for and he felt the first pressure of groin to groin, scrotum to scrotum, cock to cock—it was all he could do just to breathe. "Ahh!" he cried out, heart pounding, sensation swamping and dampening his nerves even as orgasm screamed down on him, approaching like an icy arctic wind trying to shear his soul from his body.

A thrust of hips, the friction of cock to cock like two files rasping together, and Qui-Gon gasped into his ear, "not _that_ fast—wait—wait for me—" Oh, the sweet pain of it. He thrust in return, felt that rasp all the way through his groin and out to his soul, hearing the melody they made, their grunts and choked groans of an almost animal rut.

_Everything. _

"I can't—" His nails were digging in, he knew, and the resistance of flesh imprinted itself on his fingertips. Qui-Gon's hands finally settled on his ass, gripping, kneading, separating the mounds of flesh. "I'm—"

"Wait!" An order, a command, and when had he ever thought first and acted later when that voice was filled with such urgency? Suspended, using every last thread of his shredded control, he held himself on the brink as they thrust together, as Qui-Gon—_Qui-Gon, beloved_— humped again and again, the force of those thrusts scraping his bare back against the wall, the heat between their bodies building into a slick sweat that eased the friction of their skin.

_Obi-Wan… pleasure joy urgent pain near-death near-completion oh my Obi-Wan my joy my light._ The emotions washed his mind, blending with his own cacophony of passionate sound and light. It filled him, swelled his body and finally, finally _yes! Ahh sweet rush white-hot-cold Qui-Gon—_

Everything.

The crashing approach of orgasm delivered him from madness to a place where he banged his head against the wall to see, to watch the wide-open blue eyes that stared back at him, the sweet look of agonized pleasure that contorted Qui-Gon's face, the lips that parted for air and sound. His mind could actually register the separate sensations as pleasure swept out of his body like water on a beach before a tidal wave, sucked down into his burning, aching erection. His cock quivered like a divining rod, pulsing, tightening with the pleasure it held. The familiar empty, hollow feeling settled deep in his pelvis and he gasped, surged forward almost knocking his lover off-balance in his haste to cover that mouth with his own, as semen splashed and blended between their bellies, sticky, welcome. As pleasure crashed through him, reverberating between them, laying them waste.

Long moments passed in gasping, suctioning silence, their mouths and hearts still firmly sealed together. Until finally, finally, they parted. Obi-Wan unclamped shaking legs, his toes finding the floor. Qui-Gon moved marginally back, letting him slide down until he held his own weight.

"You're hairy," Obi-Wan managed, the information just registering on his skin.

"Somewhat, I suppose." Quiet murmur, delivered to the soft skin behind his ear.

"It never occurred to me how that hair would feel." He glanced between them at his reddened chest, down further to their erections, still firm, just beginning to lose their potent red heat.

His lover's body stilled. "You've been with men." It was a statement of fact but it was also a question, and Obi-Wan nodded against Qui-Gon's shoulder. "Man, actually. Not a hair on his body. Anywhere."

Qui-Gon's laughter tickled his neck; he scrunched his shoulder up to nudge it away. "Oh. I'd always suspected you and young Ed-a Mandu."

Mandu was Akenndi, distant cousin to Wookies and covered in a soft, fine pelt of amber fur. Obi-Wan snickered back, felt the skin beneath his lips riddle with goosebumps "No." He sensed the curiosity, passive and undemanding, and smiled, hugging the big body close. "When you're ready to share your sexual history, I'm ready to share mine."

Qui-Gon sighed. "Point taken. My apologies, Obi-Wan," his master said, fingers stroking his sweat-damp hair. "I didn't mean to pry, I just…"

"You've trained me for so long that knowing the details of my life is second nature to you," Obi-Wan supplied, unoffended. In fact he wouldn't mind revealing this information, if it were solely his to give.

More seconds passed, and eventually Obi-Wan coaxed his stunned soul back into action. Sighing, he brought them back to the moment, the here and now of sweat and semen between them. "Why on earth people suggested a slow and languid pace I'll never know."

"You've never had quick sex?"

Obi-Wan sighed as they separated, and shook his head. He wondered if there should be a time when he offered the—somewhat extensive—list of things he hadn't yet tried. "Perhaps I never knew anyone well enough, or stayed with anyone long enough, to trust such pleasure so."

"Ahh."

He glanced around the room at their scattered robes. "You get fresh clothes, I'll get a cloth."

"Yes. Master Windu."

The satisfaction still thrummed through him, and more, the sense of Qui-Gon's heart beating, pounding through Obi-Wan's own veins. He grinned. "Yes."

As it turned out, Master Windu had no personal interest in them at all. His brows did rise when they entered his chambers, and Obi-Wan suspected that their satisfaction was visible to any who knew them. For Master Windu, it was Qui-Gon who was familiar enough; Obi-Wan felt the urge to grin at his expectation of the reaction Challi would have—far less subtle and far more probingly vocal, certainly.

"Mission briefing, gentlemen," Windu said coolly. "Something of an emergency has arisen on Ossaveld. Qui-Gon, I believe you're familiar with their prime minister. It seems she has been abducted during this latest civil conflict. She must be found and retrieved safely. Transport has been scheduled, and your ship will be ready by mid-morning tomorrow. Please utilize all due speed."

A mission. The message had been about a mission. Obi-Wan felt laughter flow through him and released it silently, without reaction, into the Force. He'd find time to laugh out loud later.

"Yes, Master," Qui-Gon said, all business. "And the current intelligence?"

"Already downloaded from the news banks, though it hasn't been transferred to your ship; please arrange to have it retrieved for absorption during your trip." He looked again between them, his eyes as cool and stoically calm as ever. "That is all; may the Force be with you."

"And with you, Mace," Qui-Gon replied.

Obi-Wan bowed and followed his master out into the busy hallway. His attention was shifting piecemeal, like the cells in a computer's brain, toward work. Soon there would be no time for trivialities, for personal wants, for ego. For passion. It seemed he'd spent his life deferring this, and now that demands were upon him he would defer once more. "I'd like to schedule rest allotments when we return; I need to learn you better, without risk of interruption."

"Our duty is hardly an interruption, Padawan; we exist to serve."

I exist to explore every satisfaction your body can tolerate, Obi-Wan wanted to say. He bit it back, knowing it for the emotion-driven and frivolous desire that it was, and settled for a half-hearted, "Yes, master. Did we repack after our last trip?"

"I don't know, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon replied mildly. "You stowed the gear."

"Oh. Yes."

"Are you all right?"

The question was asked with such sincerity, the look in his master's eyes so mild and innocent, that the earlier amusement came back full-force and Obi-Wan lost his composure. He had to stop, had to step aside in the hallway to let others pass as he near-crumpled with laughter.

"Padawan!"

Ahh, a public display of disapproval. He managed to glance around through watering eyes, noted the same looks from passersby, the same range of expressions from curiosity to disapproval that he'd seen in the practice hall less than an hour ago. Less than an hour ago? The realization made him laugh all the harder. The look on Qui-Gon's face was certainly different, though; the man was not amused.

"My apologies, Master," he managed, trying to pull himself together, focusing on the living Force and letting it flow through him and take his laughter out with it. "I…" he smiled, straightening, still feeling the urge to chuckle. "A mission. The message was about a mission."

Qui-Gon nodded, mildly amused, extremely indulgent. "Ahh. Well. Are you quite finished?"

He rose, wiping a stray tear from his eye, gathering himself. The laughter was relief, he knew, and joy, and a myriad of other emotions roiling through him that he hadn't yet had time to process. "Yes, I'm finished."

"That's a relief." The words almost made him laugh again. Qui-Gon knew exactly the cause of his display. "I need to retrieve the data wafers from the library. And you need to prepare our kits."

"Yes, Master." _Love you._

Qui-Gon's brows raised, and his expression softened even further, but he made no other reply.

They separated near the lifts, Obi-Wan returning to their quarters to prepare for their departure, Qui-Gon to retrieve the data awaiting them.

As he inventoried gear for the warm-weather planet of Ossaveld and made a mental list of what replacements to order from stores, Obi-Wan permitted himself to contemplate the events of the day. His training was near-completion. His beloved had deemed him prepared to accept and return the passion that he had so recently learned they shared. He had lost himself to emotion twice in public—and he still didn't care overmuch. He and Qui-Gon had shared seven or eight minutes of frantic intimacy, and now they would share days or weeks of their common work.

He had no doubt that they'd leave this new intimacy behind on Coruscant, and truthfully, he couldn't see another way. This new element in their relationship could only be a distraction from duty. And perhaps it was this perspective for which Qui-Gon had been forced to wait; love had its place, sex had its place, and their work was far more urgent to them than either of those lesser, more personal needs. It was the life of a Jedi: service, compassion for others, solidity of self. It was the life he had chosen.

Qui-Gon returned not long after, going straight to his desk across from Obi-Wan's, and Obi-Wan completed the supply order at his own desk, comming it down to the stores depot. It would be at least an hour before the supplies were sorted and ready for pick-up, and he could pick them up anytime between now and dawn. He turned to Qui-Gon.

"Tell me," he opened, interrupting his master's attention on the data, "that we'll use these next hours to begin a slower and more intimate acquaintanceship than the one we had thirty minutes ago."

Qui-Gon's head lifted, his hair fanning out around his shoulders and face, his bearing regal and proud. The image lifted Obi-Wan's heart, now as always. "We'd be better served by sleep and study."

"We have a three day flight ahead of us; we can sleep and study then."

"And you think we'll choose to do that?" A smile hinted at the corners of Qui-Gon's mouth, and Obi-Wan felt its answer on his own face.

"I think you're testing me even now," he admonished. "I think you'd be very displeased indeed if I thought we'd be spending that time in bed together." Qui-Gon continued to wait, and Obi-Wan couldn't help but smile. "Also, I think it would be incredibly stupid to spend our preparation time making love."

A measuring nod, a thoughtful look. "Let me get this data housed, and I'll let you get our gear aboard ship, and then we'll see."

_We'll see._ Qui-Gon seemed as he had been the day before, the week before, the year before, and it occurred to Obi-Wan to ask a question. "What did you mean when you said ‘I'll do my best for you, Obi-Wan'?"

"Just what I said. You had a very real, tangible desire. I wanted greatly to satisfy it in a manner that suited your need."

Well, Qui-Gon had certainly managed that. "And what of your desires?" he asked mildly.

Qui-Gon's teeth flashed suddenly in an almost rakish smile. "I do indeed have my own desires, and they are now haunted by the image of you pressed and pulsing between my body and that wall." He nodded to the wall in question. The smile faded then, replaced by familiar intellect. "I also have priorities. As do you."

"Qui-Gon…"

"Yes?"

"If you think we can spare the time, I would very much like to replace that image by one that better suits _your_ needs." They shared a look, a silent communication. Like it or not, Qui-Gon was far more mature than he was, and his body rarely—if ever—commanded his actions. What had happened against that wall, Obi-Wan realized, had happened because Obi-Wan had so desperately desired it. Not because Qui-Gon necessarily had.

"Obi-Wan." His master's voice was somber, so serious it almost hurt to hear it. "I very much enjoyed the sex we shared. You must know that."

Obi-Wan swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I do. I also know that you are terribly kind, Qui-Gon, and terribly generous. I know that you would sacrifice yourself in a thousand ways for me. I'm asking you not to do that, just for tonight."

Qui-Gon rose from his chair and hurried across the room, enfolding Obi-Wan in a tight embrace. "It would seem I've passed that generosity along to you, my friend," he breathed. "How very fortunate I am, to have such a considerate lover."

"How fortunate you are to have a lover at all, old man," Obi-Wan sniffed.

That Qui-Gon had waited as long as he had to see him with a lover's eyes frightened Obi-Wan, just a little. He could have grown away from his master, grown away from this love. All of this between them, Qui-Gon had risked, for Obi-Wan's ultimate good. He didn't know if he'd have had the strength to do the same, if their positions had been reversed.

"I know," Qui-Gon replied, still so very somber. Obi-Wan stepped away, letting his master return to his work, but he couldn't keep from staring for just a little longer. This man was so very precious to him, and so very important.

"So we'll fuck tonight?" he blurted, not willing to leave things to chance. He'd rather know, now, what would come of the evening. Or what wouldn't.

Qui-Gon smiled, muttered, "What have I created?"

Perhaps it was self-indulgent, but Obi-Wan followed his urge and borrowed his master's eyes once more. It confused him at first; before his master stood a man who waited, who watched with quiet attention, with familiar face and form. Then there was a subtle push, an urging to Qui-Gon's rich heart, and new perception altered the image.

Before his master stood a man—young, but still very much a man, able-bodied, sometimes sober, often alone, with intelligent warmth that shone from alert and quiet eyes. Before his master stood a man whose wry humor lifted and filled an already serene soul. Before his master stood a man whose beauty began from within: a compassionate heart, a generous spirit, a Force-loving soul; and continued without: compact form, beautiful and fine in all ways with favored curves from thigh to waist, again at ball of shoulder, once more along the neck. Before his master stood a man whose love shone from him with the light of the eternal and universal Force, whose light called to Qui-Gon, warmed him in such a comprehensive way, made Qui-Gon grateful to be alive and conscious in this space and time.

Obi-Wan felt that curious tension in his chest, like a balloon expanding and pressing out against its confines. It was familiar and comforting and in all ways the breath of the Force, the very breath of Life. He detached himself from Qui-Gon's senses and shook his head, deeply moved by his master's ever-present love. "You do me such honor," he couldn't help but say. "Now tell me about tonight."

"To use your ever-eloquent phrasing, my Padawan, yes, we'll fuck." Qui-Gon opened his mouth to say more, but Obi-Wan held up a hand.

"Please. If it isn't work-related I'd prefer you held onto it for just a little longer. I find my perspective untrustworthy, knowing what of you awaits me."

The heat in Qui-Gon's eyes cooled, his face settling into serene calm, and he turned back to his desk. "I'll be an hour or so; do you have work to fill your time? I had planned to check us out of the system, but if you'd like the distraction…"

"Yes, thank you. I'll take care of it." First things, first. It was their way.

Obi-Wan left the room without another word or glance, and went to a public terminal in a nearby study hall. There, he signed them out of the Temple system, replaced their mailbox messages, took them off teaching assignments and himself out of classes, and signed himself off of the physical training roster. He then recorded notes for several friends, scheduling them on delay so they wouldn't be received until morning; the very last thing he wanted was to be disturbed all evening by good wishes and good-byes.

He had to smile at the thought; so many of these people were close to him now because of a direct order from Qui-Gon. They were all small lights in his life, lights that warmed his memories and his visions of the future. They were all benefits of that order given him years ago. He had much to thank his master for.

He felt the smile on his face and controlled it, restraining it to a mere look of peace. He knew what he said these days, be it with his body, his tone, his words or even his relationship with the Force, and he had no wish to share this part of himself with anyone else at the moment.

The supplies were ready, and he transferred them to the ship that had been provided by the Ossavelder Senate representatives, meeting the First Officer and letting the man lead him to his and Qui-Gon's quarters. "I'm sorry, Jedi Kenobi," the FO said formally, "but space for supplies is in great demand. I have only these two small rooms."

"It is more than enough, sir. I thank you for your consideration of our comfort." He stowed the gear in the cramped space and took his leave, thinking of only two things: dinner, and dinner. To think beyond that would be to overwhelm himself.

Back in their quarters, he passed his master who still sat the terminal, sparing him only a glance as he headed to the small kitchen and prepared a meal. When it was finished and he had set the table, he called his master from work, sending the easy sense of his own growling stomach and the smell of the food.

Qui-Gon's head popped up and he smiled over at Obi-Wan, finally giving the computer its last orders for the night. "That smells delicious, Obi-Wan."

He only nodded, already eating from his own plate, already struggling with his body's urges to contemplate what lay ahead of them this night. Qui-Gon seated himself and dug in, eating more meditatively, seeming to savor each bite, paying the meal far closer attention than the simple fare seemed to warrant. Obi-Wan finished first and rose, dropping his plate in the cleaner and leaving the mess for his master. "I'm going to bathe," he announced, amused with his odd combination of perspective and anxious haste. The two sensations shifted together like sand in a strong wind.

"You do that." The look Qui-Gon gave him did nothing for the perspective part of his combination. "In fact, pay close attention to your ablutions, if you don't mind; it is my great desire to taste you as thoroughly as I'm tasting this food."

Oh Force, the slow and silent dining was his master's opening gambit, some sort of gustatory foreplay. The very thought made his muscles quiver. "Yes, I will," he croaked, wondering where his usually reliable wit had wandered off to. It returned in the fresher, and several appropriately pithy replies occurred to him far too late to be of any use. He sighed and chose water over sonics. Standing under the cool spray, paying close attention to genitals and armpits, feet and throat—he knew his master far too well—he felt that familiar density settling into his limbs. Already his respiration was beginning to climb and he laughed at himself, delighted, before releasing the energy into the Force. He wanted this joining to be something far different from that radiant, hurried grinding they had given themselves to earlier. He wanted to entrench himself in the moment and his master, not be caught up in his own urgent needs. He had no fear that his needs would not be taken into account, no doubt that this joining would be beautiful… and so he had no desire to waste attention on himself until passion gave him no choice.

_Qui-Gon…_ the hunger that pressed the thought out to his master seemed almost desperate, almost greedy, and he released that as well. Greed existed when one feared the lack of something, and he knew it was impossible to lose his master's love. A gentle sensation was returned to him, of quiet expectation, and of care in simple tasks; Qui-Gon was cleaning up the mess he had left from dinner. _Oh, love…_

Oh, love, he sensed in reply, a warm liquid slide through his soul.

His hands were trembling. He stared at them under the water, awed, then let impulse drive him out dripping wet. His wet feet leaving tracks across the carpets, he walked silently to his master, reached to stroke down the long cloth-layered back, watched, awed anew as a tremble followed his touch. "Come with me, Qui-Gon. I should like to bathe you."

Qui-Gon turned, peaceful, serene, his eyes bright with love.

Together they returned to the fresher, following the wet trail of footsteps. Qui-Gon stood still and silent as Obi-Wan knelt to remove his boots, his belts, his trousers, then slid his hands up the long thighs and under the fabric of his tunics, rucking them up altogether and reaching high as he stood to pull them up over his master's head and raised arms.

Qui-Gon stood in naked splendor, his cock quiescent, his scrotum heavy in the vee of his thighs. It was a sight he had seen often enough, and even though he now looked with new eyes, observing the gooseflesh that broke and scattered along arms and thighs, the body before him was as familiar to him as his own. He took his master's hand, tugging gently, pushing him under the water's spray. Watched as Qui-Gon's belly tightened against the cool caress, savored the hollows that appeared around tight abdominal muscles. Taking

up the soapsponge, he painted the man's body with long, gentle strokes: shoulder to wrist, neck to pubic hair, armpit to jutting hipbone.

The task filled him with serene and quiet joy. When he soaped his hands and dropped the sponge, reaching to lather Qui-Gon's beard, his master breathed a long sigh of pleasure, basking in the care. When he dropped his hands to Qui-Gon's groin, lathering the hair there, the sigh stuttered and caught in his master's throat.

Obi-Wan smiled, watching his hands, enjoying the coarse feel of hair and the silk-like skin that his knuckles brushed. Qui-Gon's penis barely stirred, blood just beginning to settle more heavily, and Obi-Wan sighed; in this there was no hurry, now, no mad rush to bring to an end what was beginning between them. Carefully, almost clinically, he hefted Qui-Gon's scrotum in his palm, gently testing the weight of the sac as he cleaned it, then applied the same gentle touch to the slowly filling cock. His throat felt tight, his very _skin_ felt tight. He turned his lover under the spray, taking up the sponge again to clean Qui-Gon's back, his backside, his legs.

Kneeling, he turned his master again, tapping an ankle to encourage the foot to lift as he would school an animal to do the same, and felt his master's breathy laughter tumble down over him. He cleaned between each toe, used a firm pressure on arch and instep, and rinsed the soap away before lowering each foot back to the slick tiles. Looking up, seeing Qui-Gon looking down, he could only focus on the expanse of body that lay between their eyes. His hands moved of their own volition up past knees, over the coarser hair of thighs, thumbs settling in the join of leg to trunk. "I…" He had no words, really, and nothing in fact needed to be said. His master bent slightly, and Obi-Wan felt the gentle brush of a big palm over his hair, cupping his skull carefully, as if bone and skin were the finest and most fragile of glass.

His moan was a thready and distant thing.

Obi-Wan dropped his eyes to Qui-Gon's groin, framed between his spread fingers, and felt his mouth water. It was an easy thing, a necessary thing, to lean forward and lick up the back of the heavy, half-hard shaft. He sensed the shuddering emotions in Qui-Gon that so perfectly mirrored the shuddering of his flesh, and licked again, mouthed the down-turned tip, finally bringing it into the warm cavern of his mouth.

The hand tightened on his skull, and fingers slid into the short wet tail of his hair to hold him steady and slow. He felt his tendons stretch as the shaft thickened in his mouth, relaxed his face and neck and throat in total service to this act. The shaft rubbed against his soft palate, a gentle nudging, and he swallowed around it. The resulting gasp from Qui-Gon was as effective as a hand in his crotch and he felt his own erection rising fast now. _No! Too fast! _

Qui-Gon's hand gentled again, a thumb brushing his cheek, his lips where they stretched around that heat and bulk. _No,_ Qui-Gon agreed, and the long shaft drew back and out of him, leaving his mouth aching and empty, and some part of him wanted to cry with the loss. _No, loved one. No._ Gentle urging brought him away from that sudden desperation and he drew calming breaths, staring at the thick shaft that now bobbed silently before him. He looked up again and, accepting the urging hand on his biceps, rose to his feet.

Qui-Gon's grin was filled with affection. "Do you think I'm clean enough, now, Padawan?"

Obi-Wan laughed, shaking his head at his own riotous passion. "There is your hair…"

"I'll wash it. And you, will you go turn down my bed, and wait for me there?" The gentle query was touched with some fine thread of emotion. He couldn't find the word to describe the feeling Qui-Gon shared, but empathically it spoke volumes to him. He ran his palm down the wet hair on Qui-Gon's chest, sluicing the water down hard planes of muscle.

"Don't make me wait much longer, Qui-Gon."

"No."

Obi-Wan did as he was bid, drying himself as he walked from fresher to bedroom, folding the thick cover all the way down to the foot of the bed. And then he stretched out on the mattress, legs slightly open, palms resting quietly beside his hips, and stared at the ceiling, thinking of nothing and everything all at once.

Qui-Gon entered only a few minutes later, got two strides into the room before he raised his eyes—and froze. Obi-Wan glanced around the room, wondering what had startled his master so, and felt a flush creep from his ears to his thighs when he realized it was his own body that had caused such a reaction. He looked down at himself, remembering his body as Qui-Gon saw it, grinned, and lifted one knee to emphasize the curve of his hip.

It was exhilarating, sensual, to feel his own self-conscious tremors in response to those hungry, examining eyes. The look was as heavy as a touch, and he felt his cock twitch, and flushed at his reactions. "Tease," Qui-Gon finally accused.

"Never, Master." The answer was threat and promise, and he propped himself on his elbows to look his fill. Qui-Gon's body was dry, his hair loose and wisping around his face, his eyes bright, his mouth parted. His thick, heavy cock was still erect, pointing like a compass needle toward the bed, and Obi-Wan smothered a laugh. "Are you just going to stand there?"

Qui-Gon shook his head as if to clear it, and walked over to the bed. Sat on its edge and reached out a hand to brush the skin at his hip. "You are so beautiful to me, Obi-Wan," he breathed.

"And you to me, Master." He had long since grown out of his first manic infatuation, and given up the belief that Qui-Gon Jinn was the most handsome thing in the universe—but that was only an objective measure. To Obi-Wan's eyes the sloping forehead, the too-prominent nose, the grey in his beard and hair, were the artist's finishing touches to make human a too-perfect canvas. He grinned at himself; he was so very much in love, and to feel it here, to give this passion free rein, was a gift in itself.

"What?"

"You," Obi-Wan replied. "Your imperfections make you perfect to me."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "I can't say the same for you, Obi-Wan; you're a beautiful man by any human measure." Enhanced as the words were by the image that followed, Obi-Wan had no choice but to believe. He was both proud and wary of his own physical form; the galaxy paid too much attention to such trivia, and often judged unfairly because of it. "Stop it, Padawan," Qui-Gon murmured, following his thoughts. "As a Jedi apprentice, you have always been measured on your merits; no more, no less. And if your appearance makes certain negotiations easier, well, that's a gift as well."

"Yes, Master." He answered by rote; what was important to him in this moment was that Qui-Gon found him beautiful—though Qui-Gon knew him so well, he knew he'd look beautiful to the man no matter what his outward appearance.

"Intelligent as well," Qui-Gon said airily, still following his thoughts.

Then all desire for conversation faded as Qui-Gon stretched out beside him, groin nestling in against his hip, arm like a brand resting across his belly, the breath that sustained his master's physical form gusting out beneath his chin. _Oh…_

One slow kiss was followed by another, and the moist sound of their lips meeting and parting did strange things to his body. He was aquiver, nearly shivering, from nothing more than the sound and feel of their mouths moving together. He sank his hands into the wealth of Qui-Gon's hair as he wriggled onto his side, and the kisses continued.

Eventually, Qui-Gon pulled away, fingers replacing lips, and he asked, "What may I do for you, Obi-Wan? Tell me what pleases you most."

_You do,_ he thought, already lost in the moment. Qui-Gon smiled gently and raised his brows. "What would please me most is your pleasure, Qui-Gon," he breathed, knowing it was true.

"As it happens, then, I know very much what I'd like," Qui-Gon whispered, and the intensity in that quiet tone set his blood on fire.

"Then by all means, share this secret with me."

The kisses went on, no longer mouth to mouth but mouth to ear, lips to throat, tongue to nipple, and Obi-Wan was squirming, already so close to climax that he was compelled to think, to hold himself, to bleed off bursts of sexual tension into the Force that surged between them. Qui-Gon bit down, applied his tongue to the nub now trapped behind his teeth, and Obi-Wan gasped, feeling the snake-like writhing of his body around that one imprisoned point. A pebble of pleasure dropped into still water, the ripples spiraled out from the tender, sensitized tip of flesh.

He found his arms wrapped tightly around Qui-Gon's skull, pressing him hard against his chest, felt his lover's lips mashed against his skin. And then the sucking began, drawing pleasure from the tip of his cock and down deep into his groin, sparking an arrow back up to his nipple in a closed, convulsive loop.

"Ahh! No, wait—" he dug his hand into the thick silk of Qui-Gon's hair and pulled, hard, gasping as the man's laughter gusted against his wet nipple. "Oh, no… oh…" He barely caught his body in time to stop the impending orgasm.

"How very precious you are to me here, like this," Qui-Gon chuckled. "What a special gift your youth is."

"Tell me that's not a challenge," he panted, "because I'm quite sure I can't rise to meet it." He knew full well that age hadn't dampened Qui-Gon's passion, but he didn't feel competent to prove his certainty at the moment.

"You'll be surprised," Qui-Gon parried, and Obi-Wan drew back to look, to witness the high flush of color at cheek and throat. He slid his hand down and over Qui-Gon's groin, testing the near-iron rigidity of the thick erection, delighting in the eyelids that fluttered at his touch. Ahh, such love, and such an eloquent expression of it that they now shared.

"Perhaps I can rise to meet it," he breathed.

"Not just yet, I think." Qui-Gon returned to his oral examination, and true to Obi-Wan's expectations, it was very thorough indeed. He was turned, manipulated, his legs spread, his arms raised, so that no part of him save his aching genitals was spared the prodding sniffing nose, gentle brushing fingers, the soft silk lips, the hot wet tongue. His toes were laved, fingers spreading two so the tongue could slide in between. His instep was nibbled, and his ankle. His buttocks were parted, and the crease explored from beginning to end, sending icy tremors through him. The hair at his armpits was sniffed and nuzzled, and tickled with short puffs of breath.

His ribs were counted and tested by gentle hands, then his throat, his neck. The entire circumference of his hairline was traced by lips and tongue… and this was what pleased Qui-Gon most? Of course it was; the man hadn't even afforded himself a fantasy of this night, so every touch was new, unburdened by comparison or expectation. Every reaction Qui-Gon dragged from Obi-Wan—and they were many and varied—was a treasure, a gift. He looked forward to taking the same gift in his turn, sometime this night.

When finally, that snuffling nose buried itself beneath his balls, Obi-Wan gasped and shuddered and called out "No!"

Qui-Gon raised his head. "No, what?"

"I want to see your face when I come."

"You will," Qui-Gon promised, and dropped his head once more.

The hairs on his scrotum tingled, the skin pulling taut over the tight-drawn knobs of flesh. His cock fairly thrummed with anticipation. And Qui-Gon—generous, experienced Qui-Gon—finally rose from between his legs to lay himself out beside him, head pillowed on Obi-Wan's thigh, long body stretched out at an acute angle to his right. He could reach and stroke the thighs, the waist, the stomach… the wine-colored cock that curved up over Qui-Gon's belly. _Like this, then?_ The image suffused his mind, carried itself out along their bond to burst fully formed in Qui-Gon's brain.

_Yes yes yes._ An unequivocal and emphatic yes that sussurated back through his body. He looked down the length of himself to meet his master's eyes, smiled at the way Qui-Gon supported himself on one hand nestled high up between his thighs, the wrist just brushing his scrotum. Qui-Gon merely watched him, smiling in return, before turning his head and bending just enough to capture the tip of his erection, and oh the herald of completion was sweet.

He lifted up on an elbow, reaching with his hand, squeezing Qui-Gon's erection in time with the measured strokes of lips and tongue.

In his admittedly limited experience he had found that fellatio taken to completion was incredibly pleasant physically, and somehow lacking in other ways. It had seemed a selfish pleasure, the giver and receiver isolated by their positions and the incredibly different rhythms with which they encouraged their individual passions.

Never had it occurred to him that he could lock gazes with his partner, that he could reach out and touch the hollowed cheek, or trace a cheekbone and up under the sockets of intently staring eyes. Never had it occurred to him that selfishness might even have its place, between lovers.

He didn't know why he hadn't thought to choose a position like this, where the receiver could use a hand to stimulate his partner, could observe the rising sexual tension in the person giving him this bliss, and make sure it kept pace with his own.

He did all those things here and now, hating the need to release the gently thrusting cock so his palm could cup that strong, bearded chin. Torn by how inundating the hot sucking pleasure he took was, and how it distracted him from the pleasure he wanted to give. Hating that he hadn't several more hands, so he could pinch a nipple while stroking a cheekbone, trace the shell of an exposed ear, gently roll testicles in their twitching sac while pulling strongly on a quivering erection.

He settled for as rapid a succession as possible, suffused with pleasure at each twisting, grunting reaction he received in reply, jerking when those grunts vibrated over the head of his penis.

He had just accepted the fact that his hand couldn't move again from the erection that tunneled hungrily into his cupped palm, when he realized it didn't need to. _Silly padawan,_ he scolded himself—and he noticed absently that the voice inside his head was no longer Qui-Gon's but his own— _you have a far greater ally than your hands…_

The Force responded to his direction as easily as would his fingers, and he choked out joy-filled laughter at the suddenly jerking, gasping, writhing body attached so limpet-like to his erection. _More than enough hands to touch with,_ he thought feverishly, pinching, kneading, stroking, pressing in so many places at once. Qui-Gon was whimpering under the onslaught of pleasure, a sweat breaking out on his skin, his hand quivering where it fanned out, big and broad, across Obi-Wan's belly.

Qui-Gon's eyes scrunched shut, his body quaking, undulating like a tree in heavy wind, and Obi-Wan eased back a little; he hadn't intended to strip his master's reason from him and throw him quite so far into senseless animal passion.

This wasn't the time for that.

Qui-Gon released his cock momentarily and he watched it bobbing before the man's mouth, glistening with saliva, pulsing and singing to him with need. "Do… do that again," Qui-Gon gasped.

Well. Perhaps this _was_ the time for that. He repeated his attentions, savoring the quaking responses, the pleasure that twisted Qui-Gon's face, the deep, staccato grunts that forced themselves through clenched teeth. He couldn't avoid the backlash of that pleasure, couldn't avoid his own reaction to seeing this man affected so, and found himself veering perilously close to orgasm just from the feast on which his eyes and spirit fed. Qui-Gon's long legs jerked spasmodically, opening as he pressed the Force between them and cupped the flesh from perineum to spine. "Wait! Enough, no!" his lover gasped, and immediately he stopped, panting, clinging precariously to his own control.

Qui-Gon dropped his head, his beard scratching at the head of Obi-Wan's oversensitive cock, and breathed heavily against Obi-Wan's belly. "Oh, Obi-Wan." _Oh, love…_

Love pleasure need light heat passionate joy, he responded in wordless communion. Just the feelings passed between them, heightening this physicality. And pleasure, oh such a gift to be one with this living, feeling flesh. _Such a gift…_

Such a gift. _Oh quiet joy. sublime surrender._ And Qui-Gon lifted his head once more, staring deeply into his eyes, and took his cock in again. Deeply now, as deep as there was penis to push, swallowed down by a throat tight and slick and turned ardently to this service.

The wind whipped up between them, stimulating every sense, and Obi-Wan clutched spasmodically at Qui-Gon's erection. They were so close, so together, so intimate, that there was no need to dissuade their approaching onslaught. He curled forward, still fisting Qui-Gon's cock, used his other hand to push the curtain of Qui-Gon's hair away, so they could see each other's eyes.

"Oh…" the sound was quiet, surprised, and dragged from his own lips. "Oh…"

Milder suction combined with more movement and he rested his palm atop the urgent, bobbing head, surrounded, subsumed, destroyed by the sudden jerking of Qui-Gon's hips, the wet splash of semen against his wrist, the tiny keening vibration against the head of his erection. As a gentle tongue pressed against the delicate skin behind the head of his cock, his thoughts exploded in a brilliant display of light.

His vision narrowed to the head in his lap, the brows furrowed tight together in passion and release and need, the eyes that stared up at him with such a depth of love. His orgasm rose up and grabbed him bodily, shook him like a demon. Whimpering, his hand shaking where it barely touched Qui-Gon's hair, his hips jerking in tiny, uncontrolled movements, he felt the pleasure score through him and out of him, out of every pore, so that the ejaculate that he released, that Qui-Gon took in, seemed like an afterthought…

They held themselves there, a silent, shaking tableau, as moments passed, each as precious as the last.

"Oh…" His face was wet, he realized. He sniffed, hard, feeling like a rag doll, a child, and something else entirely. He sensed his body as merely a vessel, a cup which housed nothing more—and nothing less—than this pure and abiding love. "Oh…"

Qui-Gon finally released his erection and clambered up over him, where they wrapped their arms around each other and held so tightly, it was difficult to breathe. "Obi-Wan." _My all. _

"Qui-Gon. Master." _Everything._ "I remember a day," he said with shaky voice, "I told you that sexual desire was a trivial thing."

Qui-Gon chuckled lazily. "Yes?"

"I was mistaken." He shook his head, awed and sated and deeply amused. "I wonder what you'll teach me tomorrow?"

"I wonder if you'll let me survive tonight."

They rested briefly, replete, huddled together like children against the cold. But soon enough the urgency of youth and the awareness that dawn and work and danger was not so very far away drove him up to begin kisses anew. "What do you think," he asked between kisses, "of sofas?"

Soft laughter touched his soul. "Well, I can certainly guess what _you_ think of them."

And so not much later Obi-Wan found himself indulging a favored position and a favorite location, leaning back in the cushions of the sofa in their salon while Qui-Gon straddled him, head bowed, thick thighs splayed open.

It was different and similar to the few women he'd done this with. Qui-Gon was so large he towered over Obi-Wan, blanketed him; it felt a bit like cowering beneath a huge rock ledge. He urged Qui-Gon up, and slipped a hand between them to hold and guide himself, asking with his eyes.

Qui-Gon found the angle and pressed down onto him, and each watched as the other's eyes dilated wide. Each sensed as the other's heart opened even wider. Each cried out across the waves of Force that bound them, until Qui-Gon was seated once more on his lap and he was buried deep in the tight embrace of Qui-Gon's body.

He sensed a distant pain and stroked his hands over Qui-Gon's buttocks; over their years together, the man had given up much that he enjoyed. But it seemed his master didn't agree. "No, Obi-Wan," he gasped. "It is a small pain to be measured against the greatest pleasure." He spoke of both the specific and the general, and Obi-Wan had to close his eyes for a moment at the enormity of it all.

They barely moved, barely needed to. Obi-Wan let Qui-Gon set the pace, the bare rocking of an inch up, an inch down. Over and over, then deeper and harder, until Obi-Wan's thrusting hips joined in Qui-Gon's motion, and with many kisses and whispered words, they rode their next orgasm like a meteor through a black night sky.

And after, they found a way to curl together on the sofa without falling off into an ungainly pile on the floor, and held each other once more.

Lying on soft cushions, curled around his master, Obi-Wan felt oddly pressed to talk, though he knew there was nothing pressing to talk about. "It has never been like this, for me," he whispered, stroking Qui-Gon's beard.

"I understand," Qui-Gon whispered back. "But it can be; the Force surrounds us all. I suspect you've never opened yourself enough to let it guide you fully." A long sigh gusted against his palm. "It would be a good idea for you to try and find this feeling with other partners; intimacy is a very important skill, Obi-Wan, sex or not."

Obi-Wan yawned, uninterested in the liaisons of his future. "Perhaps," he mumbled sleepily.

"I was serious, you know."

"All right, all right," he grumbled. "The next person I find even marginally appealing, I'll throw myself at."

Qui-Gon's laughter was full-throated, rumbling through his chest. "Thank you."

"This is hardly an area that I expect a Jedi master to teach in," he scolded.

"Why miss any opportunity?" Qui-Gon breathed against his lips. They kissed again, slowly, and Obi-Wan controlled a flinch; his lips were raw, his cheeks and chin abraded by Qui-Gon's beard. "Too much?" Qui-Gon whispered, drawing away.

"Never enough," he replied, pressing his lover back into the cushions.

They held each other, watched each other, and breathed each other's air. Obi-Wan marveled at their languid pace, at Qui-Gon's easy, slow care. So his new lover enjoyed the long climb to completion, loved to savor every sensation along the way. Obi-Wan would remember, just as he knew he knew Qui-Gon would remember the youthful fire of his own passions, and attend them.

Much later, as dawn approached, they found themselves on the floor after all. "I want you in me, Qui-Gon." _Love. _

"Always in a hurry to experience more, aren't you?" He knew he was being teased, and reveled in it.

"I want you to have many thoughts to guide the lonely nights ahead," he quipped back.

Qui-Gon raised his brows. "I know you've outgrown hourly masturbation, child."

"Hourly, yes. Until this, at least…" He sighed. "Who knows how long we'll be away?" He spread his legs wide around Qui-Gon's thighs and raised his hips up in invitation. "Do this for me, Qui-Gon."

"For us both, I think," Qui-Gon murmured, his voice rich with promise.

He sensed movement, saw a bottle fly to Qui-Gon's hand, and involuntarily his buttocks flexed. Wriggling, he kicked his feet out and dug his heels into the sofa cushions, raising himself further. One slick finger traced the crease of his buttocks, nudging against his anus. It breached him slowly, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensation: cuticle, blunt nail edge, the added thickness of a knuckle. Soon it would be Qui-Gon's cock pressing into him, and the thought made him lightheaded with anticipation.

He willed his body to relax, and humped down against the digit. "More," he breathed.

The finger retreated, returned with a partner, and the tension mounted within. Slow movements, infinitely gentle… apparently going nowhere. He opened his eyes. Qui-Gon's gaze shifted back and forth from heated to worried. "You've never done this before?" he finally ventured.

How had Qui-Gon read that secret on his body?

Certainly, he wouldn't lie about it. "Only with Challi," he replied. He didn't see how it mattered.

Qui-Gon smiled faintly, genuinely amused. "And with what, may I ask, did she accomplish this feat?"

Obi-Wan grinned and pressed his buttocks down against his master's palm, grunting a little as he seated those fingers fully. "With the only things you've used so far. Now hurry up!"

But Qui-Gon paused, and Obi-Wan felt the fingers withdraw, leaving that oddly stretched, slick, comfortable feeling between his buttocks. "This isn't something that should be rushed. And you'll doubtless be sore afterward; I can't have you limping all over Ossaveld."

"I'll be fine."

"Obi-Wan…" he glanced down at himself. "I'm a bit more substantial than your friend's fingers, love. This isn't a good idea."

"Not a good idea?" He almost spluttered the words. "What are you talking about?"

Qui-Gon frowned, even as his fingers returned and continued their gentle thrusts in an obvious effort to appease him. "You're rushing. There is no need."

"Perhaps not for _you..._" he gasped when the fingers turned, touched off a spark inside him. "All right, now we're definitely doing this."

The fingers retreated again, and when a third joined them, stretching him to a limit he hadn't known existed, he flinched, grunting, and rebelled by pushing down hard on them, forcing them fully inside. Whimpering when again, they touched off that spark inside. The pain seemed only to accentuate the pleasure, and he found Qui-Gon's eyes, begging, demanding. "Please…"

"This isn't a good idea," Qui-Gon said again.

Into the continued resistance of Qui-Gon's eyes Obi-Wan assured, "I'll use a healing trance if need be, when we're aboard ship."

His master shook his head, indulgent and amused and very obviously in love. "And I thought we'd be sleeping and studying aboard ship."

It was an odd conversation to have, he mused, while three thick fingers probed him so intimately, while his legs splayed out around the warm naked weight of Qui-Gon's thighs. "We'll do that too. Now please, Qui-Gon, stop arguing and fuck me. I want this, and I want it now. With you."

If he'd known that sex would make his master so compliant, he'd have figured out a way through his defenses years earlier. For even as Qui-Gon sighed with resignation, he gently removed his fingers and did exactly as he was told.

And it did hurt, the entry of such bulk a burning, searing pain that shocked the breath from his lungs. Mentally, he hurried the man along, seeking… he didn't know what he sought. Perhaps it was the look of ecstasy that had swamped Qui-Gon when their positions had been reversed. Perhaps it was the slow sliding together of minds and hearts that accompanied each climb to release.

Most likely, it was the look on Qui-Gon's face now, of tight-held control and obvious, melting pleasure.

When Qui-Gon was fully sheathed inside him only then did he beg for quarter, forcing himself to breathe against the pain, forcing his concentration from the combined lust and pleasure and worry that filled Qui-Gon's eyes and onto his own body so he could tell it what was needed of it.

The bulk was overwhelming. It seemed to fill the entire cavity of his stomach, leaving him open in a way he'd never been before. He blinked back tears, of pain or vulnerability he couldn't say, while Qui-Gon waited, and worried, and panted.

_Open, relax,_ he sensed, and he focused his entire attention on the spasming muscles, the overstuffed sensation, gentling it, relaxing his flesh.

When he sighed and nodded a few moments later, a hand found the small of his back, holding him. And he wrapped his legs around Qui-Gon's waist, holding him.

Qui-Gon curled over him, breathing shallowly, struggling for control; that in itself awed Obi-Wan, that he could so move this immovable man. He clenched his thighs, squeezing that narrow waist, feeling his sweat-slick skin slide over his master's. He sighed, relaxing more fully.

The look in Qui-Gon's eyes was so very familiar, so very filled with love. The face that hovered inches from his own was so strained and yet so very serene; he knew every mark on it, every line, and cherished them all. He reached a hand up to cup his master's cheek when Qui-Gon drew his hips slightly away, pulling that thick length partly from him; he gasped at the sensation, some abundant combination of pleasure and pain, as Qui-Gon settled back into him. Slowly. So painfully, blissfully slowly…

And then the end began, with looks and careful thrusts and touches so tender they stole his breath once more. And eventually, the pain receded enough for those sparking jabs of pleasure to take his mind from him entirely, and they fell into each other yet again.

 

* * *

 

Morning found them as it should, fully dressed, fully prepared for their coming journey, standing before the door to their quarters. So much had changed… and so very little.

"I thought I would feel different," he murmured, staring into the well of his master's eyes.

"Why?"

Obi-Wan grinned; he couldn't help it. "If you start quizzing me I'll—" he didn't know what he'd do. Answer, probably. He sighed. "I don't, you know. I don't feel different at all. I do love you so," Obi-Wan whispered, looking up at Qui-Gon.

"As I love you." Qui-Gon reached out a hand and Obi-Wan sighed when two fingers brushed his cheek in one last acknowledgement of their new intimacy.

Obi-Wan looked around their quarters, where nothing at all could tell of the story that had been written here last night. Everything was pristine. Everything was in its place. And yet their passion was here too, somehow; it would have to be. It would need a home to welcome it while they could not, on this journey. But when they returned, they would find it again here, waiting for them.

When the hand finally fell he nodded once, feeling his calling and his destiny settling like a second cloak over his shoulders, isolating him somewhat in quiet professionalism. Qui-Gon nodded in reply and Obi-Wan tilted his head, observing dispassionately as a familiar look of serene focus settled over the big man's face. He smiled briefly, then turned to palm the lock.

And, master and apprentice, Jedi together, they strode out the door toward everything the future held.

THE END


End file.
